


It takes him all at once

by karinpots (karinkaP)



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe, Consensual Sex, Fake Science, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, beaches and sunshine, lifeguard!Alan, mamma mia vibes but not the plot, ok who am i kidding - lots of cheese, some cheese, yeah here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:32:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karinkaP/pseuds/karinpots
Summary: It all starts when they take that walk along the beach and Mikuri tries to point out that pearl to him.-- aka Daigo has too much work on his plate and really shouldn't be distracted by the gorgeous lifeguard working for his hotel's private beach, but perhaps self-control has never been his forte.





	1. We're the restless hearted

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be 10,000 words and then it blew over. Anyways here's my addition to the 8 fics in the Incombustibleshipping tag woo 
> 
> (The names used are the Japanese ones because I will always, always prefer Manon over Mairin. Also has a lot of originshipping hints and a lot of platonic marisson) 
> 
> Please forgive the rusty writing. I will be coming back from time to time to edit this. On this note, thanks so much to Aza (sazandorable) for pointing out all the little things that can make this fic better! <333
> 
> EDIT: The change in title is a testimony to how sloppy/self-indulgent this is (i.e. I couldn't remember my own writing accurately)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song rec of the chapter (from whence the title came) : Bryan Ferry - Slave to Love

 x

 

It all starts while they're standing on the edge of that rock formation, and Mikuri tries to point out that pearl to him. Well, to be completely accurate, it all started when Daigo’s father, President of Devon Corporation, asked Daigo to stay six weeks in his stead at the Ayakōji five-star resort on Milokaloss Island, and Mikuri gracefully ‘accepted’ to tag along, because _one_ , Daigo needed quality company, _two_ , there were countless Milokaloss to observe around the island while Daigo was busy attending business functions, and, _three_ , the resort’s private beach was really, _really_ amazing.

But more specifically, it starts when Daigo asks to take a walk along the coast, impressed by the rock formations around the beach, and Mikuri points out that there is a pearl lost by a Pearlulu nearby, lodged within a crack beaten by waves. The pearl’s lustre is interesting even by Daigo’s standards and he leans forward to get a hold of it, when the ground suddenly slips under his feet.

A graceless splosh and some insentient gurgles later, he is back onto the beach, spread on his back with sodden hair and two unfamiliar, sky blue eyes peering down at him.

“Can you hear me?” a male voice asks, and strands of dripping, dusky hair fill up Daigo’s vision, before they lift and give place to – _oh_ – the face of an attractive man, who’s currently leaning over him in a swim trunk and orange jacket, and… and Daigo actually has to blink in disbelief.

Fuck, this young man’s a specimen.

“Uhhh…” he starts and the mere attempt to talk launches water and snot out of him, making him buckle to one side, drowning in coughs, while the blue-eyed stranger sighs.

“Alright,” he says, even though Daigo doesn’t feel alright at all, “at least, you’re breathing.”

The young man’s orange beach lifeguard jacket bears a Gyarados logo on the left breast and a red ‘Ayakōji Lifeguard’ written beneath it. He looks young. Twenty-five, at most. He also looks so  _stunning_  that Daigo has to make a conscious effort to tear his own eyes away, noticing only now that Mikuri is kneeling beside him in his sunhat and beach cardigan, looking kinder than usual.

“How’re you feeling?” his friend inquires and Daigo croaks back, still catching his breaths.

“What happened just now?”

“You just lost your footing on a wet rock. It’s ironic. I never thought _you_ ’d get betrayed by sediment.”

“What?”

“Please don’t move,” the lifeguard requests wryly, examining Daigo’s head with minute care, to his greatest mortification, “I need to check if you hit yourself on the way down.”

“You…” Daigo glances up at him, cheeks disagreeably hot, “you fished me out of the waters?” _Like some kind of mermaid, or something?_

The young man shrugs apathetically.

“I’m a lifeguard here, that’s my job. How are you feeling? Do you feel dizzy? Are you seeing stars?”

 _In your eyes, does that count_ , Daigo wants to ask, but bites down the urge and works on keeping his expression level instead.

“No dizziness,” he replies. The other man takes note, but does not relent.

“Any discomfort or ringing in the ears?”

“None in particular.”

“What about nausea?”

“…None.”

He frowns at Daigo, getting him lost in the sapphire of his eyes, until eventually, Daigo feels a chilling breeze hit him and has to repress a shiver down his spine. Perhaps it is the aftershock of having almost drowned, or the embarrassment of having to be saved in shallow waters, but he’s starting to feel flustered, and he hates the feeling.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he begins to recompose himself, “I…I have a meeting in the afternoon, so I have to return to the hotel to prepare.”

“You don’t want to get yourself checked at the lifeguards’ lodge first?” Mikuri chirps.

Daigo actually takes a second to register the snickering tone beneath the otherwise guileless comment, but as soon as he does, he spins to stare at his friend in disbelief.

“I think he’s fine,” the lifeguard cuts in before Daigo can reply, “his cognitive senses seem intact, and he didn’t look like he hit his head on the way down, so the risk of a concussion is slim... I guess the fainting was due to shock, that’s all.”

Daigo squints at Mikuri meaningfully.

“You heard him.”

“Oh, only if you’re sure,” his friend flashes a small grin which – this time, for sure – is knowing and sly.

 _Mikuri_.

“If you do feel any kind of discomfort in the next two days, though, please contact the nearest clinic through the hotel immediately,” the lifeguard adds. “We can provide transport services if you happen to be near the beach.”

“Right. Yes.”

The Devon heir sits up and pats his pockets, checking for his wallet and belongings when he feels the warm presence at his side disappear. The lifeguard has stood up and is flicking sand off his knees, preparing to leave. Instantly seized by new urgency, Daigo gathers himself and stands up too:

“Wait,” he raises a hand as the other man starts walking away.

The dark-haired youth turns back. Gorgeous.

“Yes?”

It’s no use. Daigo’s stalling like a broken car, opening his mouth, shamefully closing it again. This is oddly beyond him.

“Thank you for that,” he cracks, feeling strangely ashamed of himself, “I…don’t know what your name is.”

“That’s alright.”

Daigo chokes on his saliva. “No,” he splutters, and the other man glances at him again, “I mean…Can I know your name? Please.”

A look of surprise passes through the lifeguard’s eyes, and for a second, he looks self-conscious, withdrawn. “Oh,” he says, “it’s Alan.”

“Alan,” Daigo repeats stupidly, letting the name rest on his tongue, “Right. Thank you, Alan.”

Alan gives him another look.

“Just, please don’t fall off the rocks again.”

Daigo nods gauchely, and by now, Mikuri’s hiding his mouth in his sleeve, shoulders shaking. Alan, for his part, disappears in the direction of the lodge shortly after, and barely makes it out of earshot when the laughter bubbling in Mikuri’s throat finally becomes full-blown hooting, making Daigo grab him by the elbow, as he directs him towards the hotel.

“If you say one word, I’ll feed you to the Kibanhas,” he snarls as they finally step out of the sand.

But where Mikuri’s concerned, this isn’t much of a threat at all. And the man is too busy wheezing quietly into his hand to utter a single word anyways.

*

*

*

That is how it starts: just Daigo on the rocks, and Alan on the beach, and the silver linings of sand and pebbles that lie in between. Hours after his near-death experience, the Devon heir has showered, jumped into a clean polo shirt and cream cotton shorts, and asked the porter to direct him to the golf courts, where he knows that Ayakōji Jr. will be waiting for him.

Ayakōji Jr. – or Ayakōji Masaki – is a short redhead of scrawny stature who’s celebrated his twenty-seventh birthday a week ago, in July. He looks like a Tairenar, laughs like an imp, and constantly lets his sunglasses hang gaudily on his collar even when the sun’s discernibly blinding him. Spending his childhood in a boarding school in remote Kalos (which probably, really wasn’t Kalos at all) has handed him down a bizarre heirloom of saying ‘Yes’ as nasal, drawn-out ‘Yaaah’s. Every time he expresses agreement: Yaaah. Sorry, was I really late? Yaaah, Arceus, Tsuwabuki. I thought you’d never arrive, but I guess I’ll forgive you, since it’s a perfect day for golf.

All in all, Daigo has worked with worse business partners.

“So, how are you enjoying the resort so far, Tsuwabuki?” Ayakōji smiles as the golf cart tows them along the evergreen slopes, “I’ve been told by my father to treat you like royalty while you’re here, so, if you need something, ask. Booze, parties, women, just ask.”

“Maybe I’ll need some Kibanhas,” Daigo comments distractedly, keeping half an eye out on the landscape ahead. “On a serious note, I’m liking this place, Ayakōji. Quite judicious to have your resort here on Milokaloss Island – you’ve turned the tourism here around.”

“Right? People rarely came to this place in the past. It was just some locals and armies of Milokaloss for decades. Now that we have the resort here, though? Boom. It’s become a party island.”

“How did it come about?”

“Ah, well, you know…Same old. You buy the rights. You build the essentials, and then you start to buy more rights and build the peripherals,” the redhead peeks out of the cart as they stop near the teeing ground for the next hole. “You make those peripherals accessible – all kinds – the parasailing, the polo, the scuba diving schools, the night clubs,” he waves his club, “the golf.”

He steps out into the sunlight and looks back. “What’s my score again?”

“You have eleven,” Daigo replies, “and I six.”

He’s never been all that great at golf. Most of the time, he scores pars and bogeys.

Ayakōji stretches his limbs and prepares for the swing. “Yaaah, anyways. What the old man did before is history. Right now, it’s you and I who will be doing the expanding.” 

Daigo waits at a reasonable distance with his cap shading his eyes, pensively watching Ayakōji hit the ball across the water pond. He’s had this conversation with Mikuri when they’d first arrived, a couple of days ago. Mikuri as always was wearing too little clothes, lying too comfortably on Daigo’s bed, and eating wasabi-flavoured peanuts, his head hanging over the mattress edge. With one leg thrown over the other, he had observed Daigo with his all-seeing gaze and said:

“You told me this, but I wasn’t interested enough to assimilate. We’re here because your dad wants you to close this resort expansion deal instead of him? In six weeks?”

“Well, the deal is as good as closed already,” Daigo sighed while unpacking, his Dumbber, Kōtetsu, floating playfully around his head, “Ayakōji’s thinking ahead. They have the land, but they don’t have the tech, so the idea is to have Devon give this resort an extension with a ‘futuristic’ edge. But to do that, we’re going to need to know what we can build on the available land, and how much we get out of the whole ordeal, compared to Ayakōji. I’m here for the finessing.”

“How tedious,” Mikuri yawned, “at least you get to enjoy the sea at the same time, I suppose.”

“I’m not much of a beach person.”

“Well, I am,” his friend smirked, “I’ll enjoy the beach for both, while you enjoy the extra responsibilities that your old man’s giving you. What’s the strategy this time? Charm and attraction?”

Daigo had repressed a chuckle and folded his shirts, which he placed neatly into his wardrobe. “Not with that guy, no.”

“Because he’s a man? I don’t recall you balking in the past because of that.”

“Well,” he replied, and if the smug undertone he’d left in that word made Mikuri snort, he ignored it, “if it doesn’t stop me, it’ll stop Ayakōji. He reserves his affections exclusively for women.”

Mikuri had rolled onto his stomach, letting Kōtetsu cuddle up against him, before looking up again, more serious this time.

“And the Milokaloss, how do they factor into the expansion plans?”

Daigo hadn’t thought about it yet. 

Truth be told, there are a couple of things on Milokaloss Island that Daigo hasn’t guessed before getting here. For one, it’s more colonised than he’d thought. The resort owner is right about the benefits of ‘accessibility’. Smaller, affordable hotels have flourished following the Ayakōji example because their so-called ‘peripherals’ were accessible. Tourists now fly in from all regions, resort or not, because they are lured in by the promise of boundless surf, sun kisses, and decadent night life. Even from afar on the ferry, Daigo has seen a myriad of little cupolas spawning over the island – white houses with round roofs and yellow windows, kept apart only by sinuous alleyways. Yet, for such a densely populated island, the ecosystem is surprisingly well protected, with certain mountainous areas fended off for the preservation of wild Pokémon, including a cove reserved for Milokaloss. With both of these elements combined, Daigo has been wondering since his arrival – where does Ayakōji intend on building this extension of his? Has he thought about it at all?

“Wargle!” Ayakōji whoops, just as the golf ball rolls into the hole.

Daigo claps his share as he waits for the redhead’s return. Only when the resort owner finishes to write down his score does he probe: “Your father, Ayakōji. When he first came here, how long did he take to convince the locals to cede him their land?”

The redhead lets out a cackle that sounds like a Mankey cry.

“The inhabited portions made up approximately 8% of the island when we came over. We literally populated this place, and on top of that, gave everyone businesses and jobs. It didn’t take him long at all.”

He strikes the ground with the tip of his club, then nods in what corresponds vaguely to the direction of the hotel.

“You know the manager of the restaurant we ate at yesterday?”

“What about him?”

“He’s a local. Lucas. Family’s been here more than five generations. Same for the owner of the quads rental business down the street from our hotel, Prevet. My water ski teacher, Natasha? Native also. They each make twice as much as they used to before we arrived.”

Daigo lets the silence linger for a second, no more, before he asks:

“What about your beach lifeguards?”

The other man actually slows down to give it some thought.

“Alan, Ayaka, and Koruni are the new local recruits, which I handpicked myself. Pansy is their manager, and there’s also Siba – handpicked too.”

“Handpicked.”

“Yaaah,” Ayakōji sniffles, ticked by some distant memory, “I mean, Alan is a bit of a special case. I’d like to keep him for longer, but I know he’s just here for the summer, he just wants pocket money for an application, or something…A shame, since he’s so hard-working.”

Daigo frowns but his golf partner fails to elaborate, opting instead to repair a divot on the golf course. Daigo wants to ask more. But this is an inappropriate setting, and Ayakōji is possibly the worst person to interview if he wants to learn about the subject of his interests.

He thus settles for a quiet hum and an even smile.

“Surprised that you remember all their stories.”

The redhead sneers back, but his eyes seem fond, “Well. You know. It’s about human life.”

 

Daigo does want to talk to Alan. He wants to know more about him, to get closer, ideally, close enough to be able to rake his fingers carefully through his hair, and maybe give it a tug or two. It’s troubling that this thought comes now, when he already has to worry about work and the resort’s expansion plans. But the thought lingers, dogged and tender like a heartbeat.

Thus, Daigo spends a great amount of time at the beach.   

“Why are you here?”

He looks, mai tai near his lips, at Mikuri who’s stretched himself over one of the sunchairs behind him. His friend is cocking an eyebrow at him through giant, round sunglasses.

“I thought you weren’t a beach person.”

“Ayakōji is,” Daigo rejoinders. “I’m meeting him in an hour.”

“I think we both know that’s not the real reason.”

“…Indeed.”

There is no point in denying it. This is Mikuri, after all.

From where he stands, Daigo has a direct view on Alan, who’s currently posted at the lifeguard’s tower, leaning forward against the wooden handrail, a raspberry mojito forgotten near his elbow. He scans the distant sea, looking disinterested and lost, and his orange jacket still suits him but Daigo’s starting to resent it a bit.

He sits down on the edge of Mikuri’s sunchair, who heaves a sigh.

“Just talk to him.”

“…No.”

“Oh, come on,” the elder man chides, pulling his sunglasses down, “you’ve been checking him out ever since he pulled you out of the waters.”

“Yes, talking about that, where was _your_ Milokaloss when I needed saving?” Daigo only narrows his eyes, “you didn’t even move a little finger when I fell in.”

Mikuri leers, bringing his coconut juice up to his mouth: “I left Milokaloss at the cove for a vacation. Besides, as soon as you fell, _he_ swooped in for the save.”

Daigo sighs again. Alan’s jacket is distracting him, open at the front and short-sleeved, meaning that anyone – but especially Daigo – can see his tanned and lean chest, the wiry muscles in his arms, the faint sheet of sweat left by the gracious sun. Alan also has a pretty waist.

Arceus help him.

“What’s there to lose?” Mikuri sings, “You’re usually good at this. And even if he refuses you, you won’t see him after six weeks.”

“It’s really not that simple…”

Atop the tower, Alan has tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, which gets instantly blown back into his face, causing him to scowl. It’s cute. But it’s not that simple, he thinks. Because, of course, he would like to go up there and bring Alan down, find each nook and cranny that makes the other man weak, until he crumbles and falls in his arms. But Daigo knows Ayakōji, and as soon as Alan learns that fact, he’ll probably want to steer away. Daigo also needs to design a fucking resort in the limited timespan he has here, and having a distraction like this – an unbelievably beautiful distraction – would do nothing to help him, even if it worked out. Furthermore, his ego is a strangely frail thing these days… He isn’t sure that it could withstand the hit, should Alan look at him with those warm blue eyes of his and tell him ‘No’.

He takes a long gulp of mai tai to steel himself, to ignore the discreet but sweltering feeling in his cheeks and pooling below his abdomen. Mikuri closes his eyes and bites his straw:

“Daigo...”

“Not yet.”

“Then when?” the other man snorts with exasperation, “when he notices you’ve been been ogling him without saying a word to him and files you into the ‘complete creep’ category?”

Daigo looks at him. His friend shrugs:

“That’s what _I_ would do.”

Well, that’s not a bad point. Alan is checking the time on his watch too, and perhaps the coincidence of it is what finally prompts him to move. With his cocktail still in hand, he stands up, puts his sunglasses over his brow, and clears his throat.

“Alright,” he declares and Mikuri beams.

“Atta’ boy. Now, give me a show.”

Daigo hasn’t made two steps, though, that he catches sight of a teenage girl with cherry-colored hair running towards the tower in an oversized hoodie. He doesn’t know where she’s come from, only sees her barge into the scene with two picnic baskets, shaping her hands into a megaphone as she stops beneath the tower, and hurls without hesitation:

“Alan!”

Alan jumps so violently he almost knocks over his mojito.

The rest is kind of fascinating. Daigo watches as the lifeguard tumbles down the stairs within seconds, all softly fustigating whispers and embarrassed blush. He and the girl chat animatedly, like they’ve known each other for ages. Sandwiches exchange hands. Orange juice pop up from her baggage. Alan looks both troubled and affectionate and the girl radiates joy like a nuclear plant.

When he frowns at her and asks her something too quietly for Daigo to hear, she yanks him towards her to murmur into his ear, and the most extraordinary thing happens. Alan pulls back, stares at her and melts into this unbelievably fond smile, so indulgent and gentle that Daigo feels something move in his chest.

He downs his mai tai in long, anxious gulps, cheeks burning, and returns to Mikuri’s sunchair as soon as possible. This is bad. Quite bad. His friend glances at him with open disappointment, but does have the decency to pass him the menu:

“Would you like another one?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow. And Daigo has to nod, putting his empty glass down.

“Yes, please,” he mumbles.

In the distance, Alan is still smiling.

*

*

*

There are many perks to working as a lifeguard at the Ayakōji resort. Alan has never been one to abuse the system, but even he can admit that he’s benefited immensely from the ridiculously good pay of this summer job, from the free cocktails at the beach bar, the access to parties on resort grounds and reductions at night clubs in town… Alan has used those last ones less, but he _has_ used the privilege of the resort granted to Manon many times, thanks to that form he filled in on the first day. That form took responsibility for one outside acquaintance whom the resort would allow on the resort’s private beach, by virtue of his working there. He wrote down Manon’s name without hesitation, and since then, she’s come in for lunch every other day.

Alan enjoys those moments much more than he admits out loud. It changes him from resort guests’ failed tans and the endless little problems of the mainland upper class.

“Are the sandwiches any good?” Manon now questions him gleefully as they sit beneath the shade of a purple parasol. He nods on a mouthful of bread, putting effort in maintaining a neutral face:

“Yes. The fact that you replaced mayonnaise with whipped cream gives it a peculiar kick.”

“I did what?!” she bursts out, scandalized, and this is it. Alan’s poker face falls as easily as that.

“I’m messing with you,” he says with the shadow of a smile, “you got the recipe right and the sandwiches are fine. Thanks.”

“Oh,” she gapes at him, a hand over her heart, “oh geez.”

“Rather than mastering sandwich recipes, shouldn’t you do your summer homework?”

“Well, this weekend I was kind of busy…with quad-driving lessons,” she scratches her cheek.

Faced with Alan’s unimpressed look, her lips pucker into a pout.

“It’ll come, it’ll come,” she protests.

“What will?”

“The time when I do my homework!”

He shakes his head, but softens anyways

“By the way,” she suddenly tilts and leans towards him conspiringly, “what’s up with that guy?”

Alan has no clue what she means.

“Who?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t notice him?”

He stares again.

“… _Who_?”

She shifts closer, frown deepening, one hand over her mouth:

“There’s this weird guest in a pink polo shirt, staring at you really intensely from his sunchair.”

Alan pauses to dissect those words, which sound incongruous at best, then stares at her worried scowl again. 

She rolls her eyes and makes him turn around: “Look behind you.”

A glance in the direction of the lifeguard tower where he was posted earlier and he does have to frown in surprise. The resort guest sitting under a parasol nearest to the tower, in a pink polo shirt and white short, is none other than the heir to Devon Corporation, who is now getting a mai tai served to him on a platter.

Tsuwabuki Daigo. Alan doesn't really know what to make of him, to be honest. He's seen the man a couple of times on television, a creature shaped by the upper class of society – high-maintenance sculpture – with such refined etiquette that one can feel the aura of intensity and authority emanating from him even from afar. It's in the way he talks, the way he observes others around him, casting self-confidence left and right. He looks like he calculates moves like a game of ping-pong or tailors them like a dress. Yet, he’d woken up after his accident at the beach stuttering, and fumbling, and clumsily thanking Alan. He'd asked him for his name, all with a disarmed expression and water rustling helplessly down his face.

There's a sharp contrast between the man he's seen spluttering on the beach and the one he's seen on TV. He's also more good-looking in real life than he's remembered - but Alan tries not to dwell on it.

Ayaka says she has been keeping an eye on the Devon heir ever since she’s seen him at the resort a few days ago. Seeing big figures in the world of business is not uncommon on the island, at least not in this resort, but there are some rumors floating around as to why Devon would be interested in coming here.

“He’s the heir to Devon Corporation,” Alan explains to Manon, who is still throwing daggers at the man with her eyes, “he’s come to stay at the resort with a friend.”

“Wait, Devon?” she turns so fast he momentarily fears for her neck, “does that mean they really want to continue expanding on this island, like the rumors said?”

“Maybe.”

“So, what does he want with you, then?”

Not a bad question. He bites on his lower lip, while Manon’s face turns serious:

“Do you want me to talk to him?” she suddenly asks, making him blink in genuine surprise.

“About what?”

“Well, just inform him that he’d better not mess with you. Give him a lesson if I need to.”

“ _You_ ’d give the _heir of Devon Corporation_ a lesson?”

That ticks her off. She puffs up instantly with both hands her hips, making him smile: “What, I _could_ give him a lesson if I wanted to.”

“...That really won’t be necessary. Thanks.”

“Hey,” she cheeps, “I’ll have you know that the last time you underestimated me, you found yourself-”

“Alan,” a voice behind them makes him glance back.

It’s Pansy, who greets both of them with a huge grin and waves warmly at Manon. “If that isn’t Alan’s favourite little sister coming to visit us. Sorry to disturb your siblings’ get-together.”

“We’re just neighbours, actually,” Manon rectifies, but Pansy’s hand is already ruffling her hair energetically.

“I don't mean to disturb your lunch break but I just wanted to ask, Alan… I heard that a friend of mine did something to his wrist recently, so he wouldn’t be able to bartend at the hotel for the next few days. There’s a pool party organised by the hotel tomorrow and they’re looking for a replacement. Would you be tempted to volunteer?”

Alan feels stubbed. “Me?”

“I know you’re in pretty urgent need of pocket money, so,” his manager grins, “so how about it? I could put in a word with the organizers at the hotel. They only take the best professionals, but you’ve done quite a bit of waitering in the past, no?”

“Can I volunteer too?” Manon yelps, only to get pinched on the ear.

“You’re too young to be at a bar, Manon...”

“So, Alan…I need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ from you.”

 “It’s a ‘yes’,” Alan affirms right away, grateful and glad. “Thanks a lot, Pansy. This is great.”

Pansy makes a circle with his index and thumb, before heading off with a cheerful hum. Alan needs to seize the chance. Any extra shift, any extra pay means that he will be able to pay off the application fee in advance for his traineeship. 

After all, the deadline for the Fleurdelys Laboratories apprenticeship is approaching fast.

 

*

*

*

Daigo can’t hear himself over the music. It’s retro and mind-altering and the side of the hotel’s east pool is drowning in dancing silhouettes, amorphous and hazy, blending into the night. Purple and red lights flash everywhere above his head and he could really do with some time alone right now, away from the drunk Ayakōji screaming in his ear.

“And that’s what I want to do,” the redhead roars over the music, full of confidence, a hand clamped over Daigo’s shoulder. His unsteady stance makes part of his drink spill and Daigo is forced to watch his white oxfords stained by tequila sunset and spit. He looks up at the elder man again and repeats:

“That’s what you want to do.”

“That’s what I want to do,” the intoxicated Ayakōji grins, “and I hope you’re on board, Tsuwabuki. You’re on board, aren’t you?”

“Well, we’ll have to work out the logistics first, Ayakōji…when you’re _sober_. If that’s what we’re going for, the investment will be huge.”

“But the returns will be too,” the redhead snickers, pulling his head close, “and that’s what matters. You don’t become rich by saving, my dude, you become rich by finding constant, new income flows.”

Daigo doesn’t disagree with the principle. In fact, neither does he disagree with Ayakōji’s idea for the expansion, but the music’s starting to give him a headache, and bloody hell, if the hotel owner’s breath isn't worsening the situation.

“I’ll get us both another drink, Tsuwabuki,” Ayakōji drawls now, stumbling unsteadily away towards the hotel, “none of that shitty stuff from the bar, we’re opening my best bottle of Taste of Diamonds, just wait a second…”

Daigo watches him leave in silence, before rubbing a thumb around his temple. He’s slept terribly the night before, and now, with the booming music and the psychedelic lights, the exhaustion is beginning to catch up on him. Wearily, he recognizes the President of the Aether Foundation sitting with her butler by one of the quieter corners, sipping a Martini and watching people dance with a rictus. Some faces in entertainment, including Melissa and Kamitsure, are slithering about on the dancefloor. Superstar Carnet is conversing casually near the bar with… Mikuri, for some reason. Upon noticing him, his friend waves at him and Daigo allows his face slip into a mask of gallantry.

“Daigo, come over here,” Mikuri calls light-heartedly. He’s handling a cup of wasabi-flavored peanuts with one hand, the other pointing at Carnet who’s wearing a sparkling rosé dress, sprinkled with white petals. The definition of grace, objectively.

“It’s been a while, Daigo-san,” she bows her head, and he gently kisses her hand.

“It’s been too long,” he echoes, equally amiable.

They fall into a comfortable back-and-forth, and Daigo lets the ease of habit take the reins for him. They find the time to discuss all things from national politics to the distillation process of rum, before one of the songs starts, slow and languid, making Carnet pause half-way through her sentence.

“Hmm. _Slave to Love_ ,” she then notes with an appreciative sigh, “one of my favourites.”

Daigo supposes that this calls for a dance, then. In any case, Ayakōji has likely gotten lost in his own hotel – he hasn’t reappeared in fifteen minutes – so, Daigo leans on one leg and lids his eyes accordingly:

“Well, that only makes me want to do one thing,” he smiles before glancing up at the bar, “…Alan.”

“…What?”

Mikuri pauses, popping another peanut into his mouth, “Well, _now_ you’ve hit an all-time low.”

But Daigo freezes, ogling the bar with parted lips because...because Alan _is_ there. He’s wearing a bartender’s grey waistcoat and a bowtie and a freaking _dahlia_ in his hair, using a shaker to mix cocktails and offering polite smiles to customers and, fuck.

Just… _fuck_.

Daigo glances back unsteadily at Mikuri and Carnet: “I’m sorry, I just…have to do something.”

“Or do someone,” Mikuri remarks discreetly, but Daigo ignores him and heads straight for the bar, pushing through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the Kalosian working there.

Except he’s barely made it to the counter that Ayakōji jumps in front of him, almost shoving an imposing bottle of champagne in his face.

“There you are,” the redhead claims, hiding Alan from Daigo’s field of vision and making him jolt, “I’ve been looking for you all over the place-”

“Ayakōji. I’m…”

Daigo tries to dodge, peeks over his head, almost side-steps the other man, only to get stopped by the damn bottle again.

He surrenders and lets his shoulders fall.

“You’re back,” he states the obvious with an involuntary touch of discouragement. And the resort owner grins, but with a curious glint in his eye.

“What’s wrong? You look distracted, and not very happy to see me.”

“That’s not it, I was just on my way to get a drink, and…”

“And…?” Ayakōji tilts his head.

He glances behind him, momentarily assessing the crowd near the bar before he finds Alan, who’s now cleaning the counter with a wet cloth, and turns back to Daigo with a wider smile:

“Aaaaaaah,” he raises his eyebrows eloquently, and Daigo can’t believe it.

Apparently, Ayakōji is a sharp drunk.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” the resort owner now slings his arm over Daigo’s shoulders greasily, the champagne glasses clinking in his hand, “I could’ve gotten you some time alone with him straight away! Come on, let’s make up for time lost.”

“No, no, Ayakōji. That is absolutely not nece-”

“Alan!”

The lifeguard turns swiftly just as Ayakōji flings both Daigo and himself against the stand’s counter, and Daigo raises his head to meet Alan’s staggered, confused gaze. The blood rushes to his face. Even in the purple lighting, the Kalosian looks stunning.

“Would you kindly help us with this bottle of champagne, please?” Ayakōji now requests brazenly, “I’m too drunk to think, and I know this champagne needs something sweet to make it perfect but I just don’t know what …please help me out.”

Alan studies him in silence for a bit, then says: “Strawberries?”

“That’s it,” Ayakōji snaps a finger gun at him, his other hand still firmly clamped over Daigo’s nape, “you’re the best, Alan. Please prepare two glasses for us. And a glass for yourself as well.”

He turns to leer at Daigo, while the lifeguard heads for the fridge and pulls a box of fresh strawberries out:

“You see, Tsuwabuki, Alan here is not only a kick-ass lifeguard, he’s also a bartender – just for tonight – because we needed an urgent replacement. He’s multi-talented. A windfall, aren’t you, Alan.”

“I…don’t think I deserve the compliment, Ayakōji-san,” the young man quietly replies. “But thank you.”

“And this is Tsuwabuki Daigo,” Ayakōji slaps Daigo’s back, pushing him forward, “he’s the heir of Devon Corp, and a good friend of mine who’s here for a few weeks under my hospitality. Be nice to him if you see him on the beach.”

Alan glances at each of them in turn, still preparing the three glasses of champagne with calm, placid moves, before storing the strawberries away again.

“Alright.”

“Cheers to a lovely evening on Paradise Island,” Ayakōji grabs his champagne first, knocking almost forcefully into Daigo and Alan’s respective glasses. He downs his drink faster than they have time to respond and slams the glass back onto the counter while Daigo’s still taking his first sip.

“I have someone that I need to talk to,” the resort owner suddenly slurs, still cheery but completely smashed, “I’ll be seeing you, Tsuwabuki. Hold on for a sec.”

He disappears with a wink that is not even half-discreet, and Daigo wants to put his face into his hands. Knowing fully well that Ayakōji is trying to help doesn’t matter. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid. Now, Alan is staring at him expectantly, his glass of Taste of Diamonds still sitting awkwardly between them, as if waiting to be dismissed. Feeling unusually inadequate, Daigo wonders what routes remain open to him.

Now that he’s been officially introduced as a good friend of Alan’s _employer_ , how many more attempts does he get at starting a conversation on even grounds?

“You’re not drinking?” he asks without commitment, a light remark just to break the silence. Alan shakes his head.

“I’m still working.”

A loud splash resounds in the direction of the pool, and they both turn to see what happened. There, in the waters, a man’s silhouette is struggling to stay afloat, waddling wildly, while part of the crowd yelps and the other part tries to help. It’s Ayakōji, he realises. Ayakōji’s walked straight into the swimming pool.

“Excuse me,” Alan tells Daigo and instantly discards everything at the bar, taking off his waistcoat as he heads towards the scene. The Devon heir watches him dive in, unable to stop the despondent sigh that escapes him, or prevent himself from passing a tired hand over his eyes. He eats the strawberry in his own glass, and dunks the rest into the nearest potted plant.

*

*

*

Hours later, when the party’s ended, Daigo returns to the pool side for some fresh air. He’s accompanied Ayakōji back to his room after the pool incident and dried the elder man’s hair, noticing while changing him into a spare night robe that the resort owner had two scars on his chest, one under each pectoral. By that time, Ayakōji was comatose, drifting too far into dreamland to feel himself be manoeuvred into Daigo’s duvet, let alone hear the blow-dryer.

The east pool is deserted. It’s nearly five and the sky has daintily lifted the bottom of its dress, revealing a hint of celeste blue beneath the navy, right where it touches the horizon. Traces of the party have been erased – Daigo has to hand it down to the resort’s staff, they have cleaned everything up as soon as the last guests had gone. As the hours drowsily approach dawn, the lights have also been dimmed to give the whole patio an intimate look.

He wonders if Alan has gone home too.  

Heading towards the poolside couches and canopy beds, Daigo pulls out a cigarette and lights it as he sits down. The nicotine brings him meager relief. But it’s better than nothing, he thinks, as he places the ashtray closer to himself on the low table. Kōtetsu has accompanied him and now floats inquisitively around the couch, inspecting the synthetic resin with guileless interest. A man comes onto the patio soon after him. He is seemingly searching for something near the bar at which Alan worked yesterday night, using his phone as a flashlight and bending behind the counter. Daigo wonders if he’s a staff who’s forgotten their belongings, until the man seems to find what he wants and turns, making Daigo gasp.

“Alan,” he calls immediately. And the lifeguard freezes where he is, momentarily tense before relaxing slightly when he notices Daigo. He comes closer.

“What are you doing here?” Daigo enquires and the other man stops only a few meters from the couch, nodding out of politeness. With the lights from the pool casting ghostly shadows over his face, Alan opens his hand.

“I forgot my bike’s keys,” he elucidates.

Kōtetsu, instantly attracted to the metallic item in his palm, flies up to examine it from every angle, emitting excited hisses at the same time. Alan looks a little surprised, but not particularly inconvenienced. He lets the Pokémon float around his head, circling around it and happily studying his hair.

“Is this your Pokémon?” the lifeguard asks after a while.

“Ah, yes,” Daigo blinks, “he’s…quite young and tends to like shiny and pretty things.”

“My head is not shiny,” the Kalosian drops.

 _Which simply means that you’re pretty_ , Daigo almost retorts. Kōtetsu, heroically proving the ‘like trainer, like Pokémon’ rule, soon begins to nuzzle Alan’s cheek, affectionately snuggling against it while the young man caresses it with a smile.

“You're cold,” Alan murmurs but doesn’t try to push it away. Daigo can feel his heartbeats scamper again and hastily takes a drag of his cigarette. He’s noticed that the lifeguard is still wearing a purple dahlia in his hair, and just the sight of it makes him want to reach out and touch.

“This little one doesn’t usually warm up to people like that,” he clears his throat after some time, while Alan tickles Kōtetsu’s head, “I guess something in you must have pleased him.”

“He’s…cute,” the Kalosian simply replies.

“…Do you have a Pokémon too, Alan?”

“I have a Hitokage at home,” the young man looks pensive, movements becoming dreamy, “I…want to let him evolve, but I…just haven’t had much time to train him these days.”

There are a ton of words and expositions following that simple statement, but Alan divulges none of those. Daigo didn’t expect him to. After all, there is no reason why he should trust him to start with; they’ve only met three times and never really had a chance to talk to each other.

Until now.

“Would you,” he starts as evenly as he can, “like to have a seat?”

Alan glances at the empty spot next to him on the couch, to which he’s pointing, then back into his eyes. For a second, Daigo thinks the other man knows everything about the caper in his heartbeat and the buzzing in his ears every time they’ve met, but Alan eventually lowers his gaze and sits down – his weight dipping into the couch next to Daigo – close and far at the same time.

Kōtetsu takes this occasion to find a comfortable spot on Alan’s lap and then invites more tickles and caresses by blinking innocently at him. Sometimes, Daigo wishes he could be as shameless as his Pokémon. Either way, Alan indulges it willingly.

“Would you like a cigarette?” Daigo proposes, but the other man shakes his head.

“I’m trying not to smoke anymore. Ma…– my neighbor hates it.”

“You’re very close to your neighbor, I gather.”

“Yes, we’ve spent a lot of time together, well… I guess she’s like family.”

Daigo ponders a bit, before softening his tone.

“Would you prefer that I put mine out?”

“I don’t mind,” Alan shakes his head again, “that you smoke, I mean.”

The lifeguard strokes Kōtetsu’s rugged back absent-mindedly before adding: “I didn’t picture you as the smoking type.”

“Well, I don’t smoke regularly… but after parties, on occasions, to destress,” he leans back into the cushions, keeping his arm out so that ashes won’t fall on it, “it feels nice, I suppose.”

“Why is the heir of Devon on this island? To destress?” Alan suddenly asks.

And at this, Daigo tenses a little. The question sounded benign enough, spoken with calm and disinterest. But years and years in business has made him sensitive to these things. He shifts onto one side and takes another drag.

“I’m here to do business with Ayakōji,” he explains, “his father and mine go way back.”

“Are you expanding his resort?”

Daigo pauses but not for long. He smiles softly, cautious and tranquil at the same time. “Why are you curious?”

Alan flushes a pretty pink, looks into the distance, the dahlia almost falling off. Trying not to think about how badly he wants to kiss that blush, Daigo changes the topic:

“Going back to your Hitokage, I was just thinking … if you want to train through battles, I also have a Metagross.”

The other man looks back at him sharply, but frowns like he’s just said something completely crazy.

“I don’t want my Hitokage to _die_.”

“I would hold back,” Daigo laughs lightly, “having a strong opponent to go against is a good and fast way for your Pokémon to grow. You could learn a lot.”

Alan swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, then looks down at Kōtetsu again, who’s begun dozing off. He gives it another caress before clearing his throat.

“I don’t see why the heir of Devon Corporation would want to spend his precious free time battling and training a lifeguard’s Pokémon.”

“On the contrary,” he leans forward, “I’d be happy to if you’d let me… But only if _you’re_ happy to let me. I won’t take it the wrong way if you don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d… I’d like to know you better.”

Alan stares at him, at the cigarette in his hand, at his mouth. He breathes in.

“I’ll think about it.”

Daigo’s cigarette is slowly going out. He brings it to his lips again, before realising that Alan’s been eyeing it still, and eventually extends his hand towards the other man in silent invitation. The Kalosian gives him a funny look.

“I know you said you’re trying to quit,” he murmurs, “but one drag won’t hurt much. You’ve been looking at it.”

Alan swallows again, the expression on his face flickering to something more brittle. He’s actually considering it.

“That’s how each addiction starts,” he says anyways, but his voice is very low, making Daigo smile.

“Then it’s a good chance to test to your resolve, isn’t it?”

Slowly, delicately, he raises what remains of the cigarette towards Alan’s lips in offer and the lifeguard cups his hand into his own, cautiously tilting his head to one side, and taking a drag directly from his hand.

There’s no one but Alan to hear the soft intake of breath that he makes, when he feels the Kalosian’s lips flutter against his skin. No one but him to hear the shaking of his breath as he struggles to pull himself together, watching Alan sit back and exhale, smoke seeping like extinguishing a candle on a windowsill.

Daigo puts his own lips to the cigarette one last time, before blowing the smoke out and snuffing out the rest. The air is suddenly heavy between them. Alan looks stubbornly at Kōtetsu in his lap.

“The flower in your hair…” Daigo manages to sound stable after a while.

“Oh, it was part of the uniform,” the other man snorts and makes a move to take it off, “I forgot to throw it away.”

He watches with a touch of regret as the lifeguard takes the ornament and tosses it onto the table. The dawn is breaking. As it rises, the sun sheds hints of tinsel through graying clouds and Alan looks all the more breath-taking in this light. Daigo picks the dahlia up and plays with it distractedly as he asks, unable to stop himself:

“What are you doing after this?”

“I’m…”

There’s a silence. Alan looks at him, then glances very quickly at the canopy beds behind them, which makes Daigo’s eyebrows raise. Finally, he clears his throat and says, quite calmly:

“I’m going home.”

 

 


	2. Paper heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> f(x) - Paper Heart

 

 

Alan stretches. It’s eleven in the morning, and a Saturday, and he has no shifts at the beach – thank Arceus. The back of his throat feels dry from having drank close to nothing at the bar yesterday night, and his head hurts. He turns to one side, back against the wall of his modest room – attic, really – and closes his eyes again, ignoring the sunlight already pouring from the ceiling window and shining onto his face.

A creaking of doors. Hitokage enters clumsily and emits a small plaintive sound. Alan shifts again and cracks one eye open.

“What’s wrong?”

“Alan!” comes the familiar scream outside, two floors below. Alan buries his face into his pillow, before forcing himself out of his bed.

Manon, of course.

“Alan!” his neighbor is now bellowing from somewhere on the street outside his house, “come out and get breakfast! My mum made crêpes!”

“Can you stop shouting?” Alan says to her two minutes later as he opens the front door of his house, still haggard, hair all over the place, “I told you there are two couples living in the same building as I do…Why can’t you ring the doorbell like a normal person?”

Manon simply shrugs, “You wouldn’t have replied if I rang.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Besides, it’s eleven o’clock, and everyone is awake except you. Wouldn’t have bothered anyone,” she lifts up her basket and beams, “here! Have some crêpes!”

Alan receives the food offering rather awkwardly. “Thanks,” he says, watching Manon’s Pokémon, Harimaron, climb onto her shoulder, “since Harimaron is here as well, why don’t you both come in and share some with me?”

“I already had my breakfast,” Manon lifts up her hand importantly, “but I can’t say no to more crêpes.”

She enters the house without further invitation, and Alan can’t help but smile at her back, following her as she walks up the familiar stairs to the top floor, where Alan’s humble flat is.

It’s really a narrow nest. Alan is forced to admit this each time Manon comes around, because there are only three rooms in total – a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen the size of a matchbox – so that three people (counting Hitokage and Harimaron as one) are already too much for the flat’s capacity. The kitchen makes it especially obvious. The table is only, _barely_ enough for two, and each time, Harimaron and Hitokage have to eat their food on the windowsill, next to Alan’s only plant, a hoya offered by Manon for Christmas.

Alan still prefers this to continuing to live under his uncle and aunt’s hospitality though. Besides, he doesn’t intend on staying here for very long.

“There’s jam, and chocolate sauce, and maple syrup, and nutmeg,” she pulls out the ingredients one by one from the picnic basket, making him blink because the basket doesn’t look that big, “what would you like to start with? A chocolate crêpe? Plain sugar?”

“Chocolate would be nice,” he concedes, sitting down with her after serving Harimaron and an overjoyed Hitokage, “you really shouldn’t have, Manon. I can take care of myself.”

She mumbles something under her breath. “Of course, you can, but…”

“But nothing,” he hands her some cutlery and a cup, “I can’t always rely on you and your parents. I’m twenty already, almost twenty-one, in fact.”

 _And besides_ , he fails to add, _at the end of the summer, I’ll be gone_.

Alan watches her eat for a while, the familiar guilt creeping into his stomach. They haven’t really talked about this yet. Manon knows that he’s applying for traineeships and research courses in various laboratories across the nation, she knows that his summer job at the Ayakōji resort is meant to pay the application fee for the Fleurdelys traineeship. But she’s never come to the realisation that, if and once he gets a place – any place at all – he would leave the island, perhaps temporarily, or indefinitely.

Alan doesn’t know how to have this conversation with her without breaking her heart, and so, he doesn’t.

“Anyways,” he says to change the subject, “you know the heir of Devon Corporation, the one you saw on the beach? I think he might really be here to expand the resort.”

“Really?” Manon snaps to attention immediately, leaning forward, “how do you know?”

Alan swallows a mouthful, feeling his cheeks heat up against his will as the memory of yesterday drifts back. The Devon heir’s hand against his lips. The shared cigarette. That dark intense look in the other man’s eyes and the proposition to train Hitokage. Manon might have called him ‘dense’ and ‘rockhead’ multiple times in the past, but Alan’s had enough experience to know that none of what had happened last night was benign. On the contrary, the Devon heir’s every action was pregnant with intention, the nature of which, judging by the last comment he’d made before Alan took his leave, may have been as simple as they were unsuitable for a conversation with Manon.

He clears his throat.

“I talked to him.”

 Manon tilts her head slowly, squinting.

“Why are you blushing?”

“I’m not,” he frowns, blushing harder, “I was just answering your question.”

“You totally are blushing,” she opens wider eyes at him, putting her fork down, “you aren’t starting to fall for the Devon heir’s charms, are you?”

“Huh,” he snorts, “that’d be one terrible idea.”

“Hmm. You aren’t necessarily denying it,” Manon folds her arms, brooding as she leans back on her chair. By now, even Harimaron and Hitokage are craning their neck to look at his face, which is mortifying, “I mean, he certainly is good-looking. Many people must be after him all the time, because he’s handsome and rich. I guess if you land him, you’d be getting a great catch, objectively!”

Alan heats up, pouring juice into his cup in silence, eyes fixed obstinately on the upper right corner of his plate. Well. The Devon heir _is_ really attractive.

“Great catch or not, if they expand any further on the island, it might affect the wild Pokémon’s habitat, so he should be careful.”

“Why don’t you have this talk with him while taking a ride on his private yacht?” she sneers smugly, and Alan coughs his orange juice out.

She laughs at him, pats his back, and gives him a napkin to clean his face while giggling a string of ‘I’m joking, I’m joking!’ His crêpe has gone cold already and he doesn’t feel all that hungry anymore. But truth be told, should he say yes to the Devon heir’s advances towards him in any form, perhaps it would allow him to know what the Devon heir and Ayakōji really are up to.

The Devon heir’s advances towards him. He stills. The concept alone sounds bewildering…but that’s what had happened yesterday, hadn’t it?

“Anyways,” she says all of a sudden, placing her now empty plate – _when did she find the time to eat_ , Alan thinks – into the sink, “this was very nice, but I still have my quad-driving test at half past, so, I should get going.”

“Don’t forget your helmet,” he responds automatically, “Please be careful. Also, leave the plates there, I’ll wash them later.”

“Are you sure?” she smiles.

“Of course, you delivered the food. That’s the minimum I can do.”

“Okay, then,” she grins, then raises one arm energetically, “Hari-san, let’s go!”

“Rimari!” the Pokémon hops onto her extended arm, then grabs onto her shoulder as she laughs, twirling out of the kitchen. Alan stands up as she tumbles down the stairs:

“Don’t run on your way down, it’s dangerous,” he warns.

But of course, this is Manon, and Manon never listens. She just braves through life.

*

*

*

 

Over the three days following the poolside party, Daigo takes caution in avoiding the beach. Instead, he spends some time on the golf courses with Ayakōji, who’s felt slightly apologetic that Daigo’s had to give up part of his night to take care of him, and even accepts Mikuri’s suggestion to get a facial treatment at the hotel spa to pass the time. It’s all a necessary part of his impulse control. Had he seen Alan again too soon after their moment by the swimming pool, Arceus knows that he would have walked up to the young man and said something – or worse, _done_ – something really stupid.

He does run into him once though, by accident, on his way out of the hotel. There probably was an incident of some sort on the beach, and Alan was re-accompanying a young woman back to the lobby, his walky-talky in hand. Upon meeting his gaze, the lifeguard had halted before offering a tentative smile, a self-conscious one – Daigo couldn’t help but notice. And the one he offered in return must have been no less awkward and stiff... They exchanged timid waves, before looking away from each other and going in opposite ways. 

So, Daigo only sees Alan’s shadow once during the three days, and it’s a good thing for his sanity. It doesn’t stop his dreams from being visited by the Kalosian though, who is always so much bolder in his dreams and so much more forward than he is in real life.

 

As he walks into the café on the mezzanine, Daigo scans the room and notices Ayakōji sitting at a table close to the outside area, where the door is wide open. The resort owner’s obviously been swimming, wearing only a red short-sleeved jacket over his swim trunks, goggles hanging around his neck.  Daigo makes his way towards him.

“Tsuwabuki,” the redhead grins as soon as he stops in front of the table, “I ordered a bourbon for you, I hope you don’t mind?”

“Absolutely not,” he drops his own luggage onto the table, namely, a pile of binders and plastic folders, “and here’s my present for you.”

“What is that?”

“The blueprints for the extension,” he clarifies, taking a seat, “based on our talks until now.”

“Wow!” the redhead’s body shoots forward, pouring at once over the content of the binders, “holy Dongkarasu, Tsuwabuki! It’s only been days since we came to an agreement. You can’t work this fast!”

“I had trouble sleeping anyways,” Daigo explains, without wanting to go too much into detail. He points at one of the blueprints showing the plans for the main buildings, “I got in touch with my team in Kanazumi City, and this is what they came up with. As you can see, the new buildings will be deep underwater – which is what you were hoping for. That, of course, means that the submarine pressure would be too great and would eventually damage the building if we don’t take some precautions. We can work around that by coating the infrastructure in different experimental materials.”

“Hmm. What’s most important is that guests should be able to see the magnificent view from within the buildings. I thought we’d be mainly using glass.”

“Then, we could try the alternative, which is to use Devon tech to warp the water around it, which will divert the pressure elsewhere,” Daigo takes a sip of bourbon, “we have to consider the effects of that on the environment, but given that the Milokaloss cove is literally on the other side of the island…I don’t think this would affect them in any way.”

“And since it’s underwater, we won’t be disfiguring the landscape, so the locals shouldn’t have a problem with it. Very nice!”

The elder man sits back, looking satisfied.

“Man, I knew that working with Devon would be a great idea.”

“You might be speaking too soon, Ayakōji,” he sneers into his glass, but his interlocutor cackles harder:

“What, you mean, it’s gonna cost me? Of course it’s gonna cost _something_. But the whole point of you and me is to make this work so that it costs less and brings in more.”

Bring in more for who? Daigo wants to say. Then his brain leaves him hanging for a moment as Ayakōji pulls out a cigarette and starts smoking in front of him. Of course, the doors are wide open and they’re practically outside, but the sheer image makes Daigo think of Alan again, so that he has to bite on his lower lip.

The more time passes, the more he wants Alan. It’s ridiculous.

“Want one?” the resort owner proposes, but he shakes his head.

“I’m trying to be good.” A blatant lie. The redhead leers, and Daigo takes another sip.

Even by his own standards, he had gone in too fast and too strong three nights ago, and Alan could have refused his advances way more negatively than he actually did. He hadn’t though. Some of the signs exuberated by the lifeguard were almost – dare he say? – favorable, but Daigo doesn’t know if he’s becoming delusional or actually reading them right. Either way he finds his thoughts drifting to Alan more and more often and it is deeply inconveniencing.

It’s also pathetic because for all the haunting that Alan has done to his sleep in the past few days, all the scorching hot showers at 3am that he’s had to take, he doesn’t know squat about who Alan really is. He doesn’t even know his age, whether he was born here, why he works for this luxury resort’s private beach, what he likes to do in his free time, how he likes his eggs for breakfast...yes, how does he like his eggs for breakfast? Fuck.

He inhales sharply when Ayakōji speaks again:

“What are your plans for tomorrow, Tsuwabuki?”

“Well, maybe if you can give me a time, I could tell you,” Daigo sighs.

“Ah well, I didn’t have a specific _schedule_ in mind, I was just wondering whether you’d be up to partying outside for a change,” he smiles. “You haven’t seen much of the island yet, have you?”

It’s true.

“There are tons of great clubs and bars around the island. Let’s go out and have a wild night,” he continues, “leave our hearts on the dance floor, come back home with some beautiful ladies in our arms – or dudes, in your case, and…well, just have a good time, generally.”

“If you put it this way, I don’t see how I could refuse. Do you ever have a rest, though? A night at home just watching TV?”

The redhead makes a thoughtful pout. “I try to keep those at a minimum.”

“My friend Mikuri might be interested as well.”

“Then, he should join too! We’ve talked. He’s a very interesting fellow, I’d love him to come along.”

Daigo is about to agree to the latter part when he processes the one in the middle and looks sharply at the other man again.

“You talked? When?”

“During the party on Friday,” the resort owner says, as if it was obvious, “sometime in the middle of the night, at the bar, before my little mishap…”

“Before the Taste of Diamonds?” Daigo furrows his eyebrows.

“Before the Taste of Diamonds…after the string of Kalashnikov shots...I don’t know.”

How funny; Mikuri generally cares incredibly little for the world of business, let alone the figures in it. Daigo rubs his chin pensively while the elder man nods:

“He’s a really cool dude.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. I’ll skip the introductions when you meet, then. Tomorrow evening at what time?”

“Oh Arceus, I don’t know,” he sniffles, “let’s say half past nine at my place for pre-drinks, and then we’re out of here.”

It sounds alright. They have two more rounds of bourbon in the afternoon, and Daigo pays none of it.

Around four, he takes a taxi and heads into town.

Talking in the abstract is nice and sometimes necessary to put someone at ease, reassured and unburdened by details. But Daigo does need to do some advance groundwork before delving deeper into the hole that he’s digging, and since he only has six weeks, he might as well start now.

He has borrowed one of Mikuri’s sunhats for this purpose and has never made a wiser choice. Although the afternoon sun is nowhere as glaring as it was around noon, the air is still smoky enough to make Daigo sweat and he does feel a searing spot on his nape where the sunrays have been roasting him for the past hour or so. He’s climbed the white alleyways of the town from the hill bottom to the top, swayed past local restaurants and shops with their closed shutters, and by residential homes with their red flowers hanging out of balconies. Milokaloss Island’s architecture reminds him a bit of Rune City, in a way. Maybe that’s why Mikuri fits so well into the canvas. But there’s also more land outside, more wilderness, and soon Daigo has to take a break by the side of a bumpy mountainous path, because fuck.

 _Fuck_ , it’s quite a climb.

A quadricycle rumbles loudly as it barges onto the road and stops near his level, its driver wearing a black helmet and sunglasses.

“Can I help you?” she says, then blinks when he raises his head.

“Are you a local?” he asks in return, “I was wondering if I could perhaps get some help with directions.”

She abruptly takes off her sunglasses, and then opens wider eyes at him.

“Wait a second,” she points, “you’re the Devon heir!”

Now, that’s unexpected. Then Daigo looks at her face again, and to his own surprise, recognizes her too. She is the young lady who delivered sandwiches to Alan on the beach, last week, the redhead who made Alan smile the softest smile he’d seen on him yet. A Harimaron is sitting on the passenger seat behind her, wearing its own miniature helmet. Daigo clears his throat:

“I know you too,” he stands up, smiling, “you’re Alan’s…” friend? More than friend? Sibling?

“Neighbor,” the girl finishes in his stead, “and best friend. I’m Manon.”

“Very nice to meet you, Manon. My name is Daigo.”

She shakes his extended hand without a word, still observing him with unconcealed curiosity. Daigo takes note that she hasn’t asked how he knows Alan to start with. The Harimaron jumps onto her thigh, extending its paw too:

“Rema,” it says in greeting, and the Devon heir courteously indulges its innocent soul.

“This is Hari-san,” Manon explains happily, “my partner. So, Daigo-san, what are you doing here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Working, or at least trying to,” he replies, “I was trying to see for myself which parts of the islands are deserted and which are reserved for the preservation of Pokémon. Unfortunately, …I picked the wrong footwear.”

“Of course, the island’s not _that_ small,” she blinks incredulously, looking down at his tennis shoes, “and you’re getting to the wilder parts where there is no public transportation. But do you have a precise destination? If you do, I could give you a ride.”

Daigo eyes the sturdy four-wheeler quietly. After all, why not? He does have a destination to get to and Manon seems like the talkative type, meaning that she could give him useful information on top of saving him from physical exhaustion. She hands him a spare helmet and he accepts it with a smile, walking towards the passenger seat behind her while Hari-san climbs onto her back.

“Alright. Thank you very much, Manon. I’m in your debt.”

“Don’t sweat it,” she rubs her nose, looking proud as he sits down, “I’ve just gotten my license, so you could say I’d like to show off as well.”

Daigo, who’s just finished clipping his helmet, halts: “What do you mean, you _just_ got it-”, The quad bolts off the second next, “ _SHIT_!”

Manon gets her vehicle hurtling down the jarring slope of the mountain, glancing disapprovingly over her shoulder as Daigo hangs on for dear life, drenched in cold sweat. “Hey, don’t swear in front of Hari-san”, she frowns at him and he can barely retain a scream.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, one hand over his head and heart about to jump out of his chest, “but when did you get your license exactly?”

“This morning,” she shouts over the engine’s rumbling, “I’m sixteen, it’s the minimum age.”

He is probably going to die.

“So, where is your next stop again?”

“Milokaloss cove,” Daigo all but wheezes, and the quadricycle emits a threatening thunder as it thrashes down the rock-strewn road.

*

*

*

Alan is only thirty-thousand Pokédollars away from making the application fee. It’s a little surreal. He’s been preparing for months for this, and now he only needs one additional paycheck. One. In a week’s time, he could technically resign from his summer job, go to the career section of the Fleurdelys website to attach his resume and cover letter, enter his payment information, then click send and done: his application to the Fleurdelys Laboratories would be sent. A week ahead of the deadline.

Alan puts his phone back into his pocket, taking a deep breath in. The waves are crashing against the cliffs below him, and he’s just come back from the cove, checking on the peaceful and elegant Milokaloss that are rarely disturbed by visitors. From where he stands now, it’s a twenty minutes’ stroll to the nearest bus stop, which would bring him to the resort side of the island in approximately an hour. He sets off when a distant rumbling catches his attention.

A few moments later, Manon appears from across the hill, murky quad dashing across the road and carrying, as passenger, the Devon heir who's looking at the end of his life.

“Alan,” she greets when she notices him, “what a coincidence!”

This is a mystifying sight.

Alan looks blankly at the Devon heir on the back seat, who’s now dabbing at the sweat on his forehead and stutters when their eyes meet.

“A…Alan,” he says somewhat calmly, but his voice is not nearly as smooth as it was few nights ago, “I’m glad to see you here. It’s a fancy coincidence indeed.”

“What are you both doing here?” Alan blinks, incredulous. _And together, at that?_

Manon scratches her neck, tongue in cheek: “Eehh…Daigo-san said he wanted to see the cove, for work, or for something,” she turns to him while unclipping her helmet, “what kind of work, again?”

“Groundwork,” Tsuwabuki rasps out rather breathlessly, and it shouldn’t be attractive, but Alan is staring. He gets off the quadricycle and looks all too glad to take off his helmet too, “I’m just checking out the Pokémon’s environment…doing research on the ecosystem.”

“For your … business, with Ayakōji-san?”

“Ah, yes, you could say that.”

Then, he heads towards Alan and stop right in front of him, still heaving. They’re the same height – maybe the Devon heir is a tad shorter, even, but the resort guest looks slightly older than him, jawline sharper and more mature. His eyes are penetrating and catlike, but his gaze is warm, almost caressing and deferential.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he states diffidently, and extends a hand.

It’s weird. Alan shakes his hand as if they’re regular acquaintances. Really weird.

“Good to see you too, Tsuwabuki-san,” he replies softly.

“Daigo, please,” the other man insists. “So, is this where the Milokaloss live?”

Alan looks around them, at the deserted headland around them, with the crescent-shaped cliffs and the poetic cove hidden beneath it. They can’t see it from here, but there are distinctive splashes echoing from below that are different from the sound of waves crashing against the rocks. Their breaths are punctuated by Camome cries.

“They live a fifteen minutes’ walk from here,” Alan explains, pointing in the direction of a slithering path near his current spot, “if you walk down the cliff using this path, you can access the cove. But only the locals are allowed to enter.”

“It’s to avoid illegal capturing of the wild Milokaloss,” Manon adds and Daigo nods in understanding.

“I see. But what about your own Milokaloss? Can you let it roam free at the cove, if you are a tourist?”

“Oh, yes. That is allowed…But to get it back, you’ll have to ask a local to fetch it for you when you want to. Most hotels also provide a service to check on it at the cove for you on a daily basis as well, if needed.” 

“The Milokaloss don’t only stay around here,” Manon beams, “they can swim to other caves and coves as well, so they don’t get bored.”

Daigo puts his hands behind his back, his expression completely opaque.

“That’s interesting.”

The sun is setting in the horizon, coloring the cliff in tangerine and peach. Manon shudders when a particularly strong breeze blows through, and hides Harimaron under her gilet.

“When are you heading home?” Manon enquires, hugging Harimaron close, “Alan, you’re done with your shift for today, aren’t you? The sun is setting already.”

“Yes, I just wanted to come and check that everyone was doing fine,” he nods in the direction of the cove, “but I’m all done now.”

“Then, what are you two doing for the evening?” Daigo suddenly perks up, “could I invite you both for dinner, by any chance?”

A short silence. Manon and Alan eye each other just as the younger of the two scratches her head:

“Ah, I, uh, I have to get the quad back to Mr Prevet…and then help my mother for dinner. But thanks for the invitation!”

“That’s truly a shame,” Daigo says softly, before peering at Alan with a lot of hope in his eyes, “what about you?”

He could say no. There’s really nothing stopping him.

“Okay,” he replies instead.

As soon as the word falls out from his mouth, Daigo’s eyes light up, like Alan’s just made his day. A wide smile splits his face into half.

“Wonderful,” he asserts.

“I… just need to get Hitokage though,” Alan mutters, feeling like he might have fucked up already, “I can’t leave it at home alone for dinner…”

“Of course, do bring it along. I’d be delighted.”

“Are you taking the bus?” Manon asks, looking a little amused as she puts her helmet back on.

“I suppose,” he murmurs, “you be careful on the way back to the rental place.”

“Of course,” she beams, climbing onto her vehicle again and casting on both of them another entertained glance, “well, so long!”

In a cloud of dust and grime, she leaves him on the cliff alone with Daigo, the remnants of the day washing over them. The resort guest’s grey eyes look almost golden in this luminosity.

“Shall we make a move?” he asks, still pleased.

Alan takes the lead. They ride the excruciatingly slow bus back into town and he wishes that Manon had come with them after all. It’s not that the Devon heir doesn’t make good conversation. He actually talks a lot, asking all sorts of questions about the island, about the Pokémon living there, and overall evading awkward silences with dexterity. But Alan doesn’t quite know how to situate himself yet when he talks to him.

Also, he’s not quite sure where Daigo hopes this evening would go.

“Can you wait here,” he asks the other man when they arrive on the street where he lives, at last, “I’ll fetch Hitokage and come down.”

“No problem.”

Daigo waits. He doesn’t even move much, just standing in front of the door with his hands behind his back, and Alan feels a little stupid.

“Right,” he says and disappears into the building. He climbs up to the top floor and finds his Pokémon in his bedroom, napping on the bed. As he gently wakes him up and picks him up in his arms, he takes a deep breath. One look in the mirror. Not too bad. He’s good to go.

He resurfaces from the building again and Daigo is still exactly where he left him. Only, his expression clears when he sees Hitokage in Alan’s arm.

“So that’s Hitokage,” he leans forward, tilts his head, “what a healthy flame. He looks well-raised.”

“… Thanks,” Alan mumbles.

“May I pet you?”

It takes Alan an embarrassing second to realise that Daigo is speaking directly to Hitokage, who looks at the stranger curiously, before emitting a small sound of approval. Daigo strokes the fire lizard’s head, letting him close his eyes and coo against his palm.

“How lovely,” Daigo comments.

Then, Alan’s stomach howls and the Devon heir looks at him, surprised, but not bothered in the least.

“Sorry,” Alan mutters, positively mortified, “I’m just famished.”

“Well, that’s good timing,” the other man looks thrilled, “I’ve looked up a very nice place for us to grab a bite. It’s not too far from here. Let’s go.”

 

*

*

*

What Daigo calls a ‘ _place to grab a bite_ ’ is actually one of the most expensive and needlessly extravagant restaurants on the forsaken island. Alan knows the establishment, only because he’s passed by it many times on his way to work, and each time the dish of the day at the door has had an impossibly long and incomprehensible name to match the completely astronomical price that went with it. “Today’s my treat,” Daigo had asserted a couple of minutes ago when the restaurant was still out of sight, and at the time, Alan had gabbled a few futile attempts to make him agree to split the bill – all unsuccessful.

Well. He certainly isn’t about to renew the effort _now_.

“How do you even know about this place?” he asks as the waitress directs them to a table for four by the balcony, one with a lovely view on the sea. Daigo lets him sit down first, next to Hitokage, before explaining:

“I simply walked past it today, on my way to the Milokaloss cove. It looked nice on the outside.”

Sure, it does – on the inside too. The whole place is white like a temple, with columns to hold the ceiling and majestic flying curtains. Daigo lets his Kōtetsu out, and two waiters come by to put a flowery little napkin around the Pokémons’ neck, as if they’re human children who care about table manners. Hitokage looks rather unimpressed by all the extra hassle.

Alan has more cutlery in front of him than he’s ever needed in a week. 

“You don’t like this place?” Daigo looks oddly concerned.

“Um, it’s just,” Alan blinks at him, “well, it’s very fancy.”

“I did want to take you out somewhere scenic,” the other man puts both hands together and rests his chin on them, sheepish, “so… I guess, goal accomplished?”

He starts filing through the menu like he is on a mission, and Alan is still trying to work out the use of the tiny forks lying all around his plates. Meanwhile, Hitokage is already trying to get rid of his own napkin, a rather unsuccessful struggle that Kōtetsu seems to find fascinating. Alan is on the verge of saying something to stop him when Daigo speaks again:

“They seem to have an interesting five-course menu over here, called the Daikenki. It’s got a truffle risotto and fresh lobster in white wine sauce as the main. Would you like to try?”

Alan doesn’t remark that it’s not written ‘fresh lobster in white wine sauce’ on the menu, it’s written something awfully complicated about ‘crying sabers’, and ‘diamond drip’, and another jamboree of nouns that sound like they either do not belong together or were made up entirely. He does stare at him though.

“A _five-course_ meal?”

“You said you were starving,” Daigo blinks innocently, a finger raised, “besides, the portions are probably not that big.”

The waiter sees Daigo’s sign and comes over, so Alan decides to just leave it at that. “Alright.” He lets Daigo take the lead. The other man, in fact, has it pretty much all covered. He does ask Alan for his preferences on wine, but Alan isn’t able to provide much help but some ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘I don’t mind’. He also checks whether there is anything that Alan doesn’t eat – oysters – and so suggests that they replace the appetizer with sea scallops instead. He further takes care of the Pokémons’ menu, who seem to have just as many courses in line as they do. Alan realizes, belatedly, how out of place he looks in this environment, in his white and blue striped T-shirt and sandals. But Daigo doesn’t seem to mind that at all.

“I’m starting to feel very hungry too,” the man remarks after a while, looking in a good mood.

And Alan can’t help but ask.

“How old are you?”

The other man blinks, still tranquil.

“I’m twenty-five.” He pauses. “You?”

“Twenty.”

“Ah, the university years,” the elder man notes, which really does nothing but make him sound incredibly old. Alan snorts.

“I’m not studying…yet. I’m applying to various places around Kalos, Sinnoh, and Hoenn, and some of the traineeships require an application fee. I should get some replies in the next month or so.”

“What is your field of interest?”

“Pokémon research and ecology,” Alan is comfortable talking about this. He likes it, in fact, “I want to know more about Pokémon’s habitats and how it influences their evolution.”

“Ah, from this perspective, Professor Nanakamado in Masago Town and Miare City’s Professor Platane must really be your role models.”

“Yes, I’ve applied to their laboratories,” he nods.

But the Fleurdelys Laboratory apprenticeship…It really sits on his mind. Partly, he knows that it’s because Fleurdelys’s research focuses on Mega Evolution and their link to the environment, which is closely in line with Professor Platane’s research. The difference is that working for Fleurdelys involves a huge amount of field work, which would put him out of his comfort zone, and is something that he truly yearns for.

Daigo looks upward pensively with a hand under his chin: “I don’t recall Platane and Nanakamado charging an application fee, though.”

Hitokage finally yanks the napkin off with a satisfied grunt. Alan purses his lips:

“And you, Daigo-san? What are you doing on this island?”

The elder man stops musing immediately, and melts into a seemingly fond smile once again.

“You really _are_ curious about this, aren’t you?”

The soup arrives at the same moment, making both of them shift. Just like that, he manages to evade the question again.

Hitokage is loving the food. Alan has rarely seen him eat with such an appetite; he's digging into his plate, munching and slurping, all initial reservations gone into the wind, and to be fair, the dishes _are_ phenomenal, fragrant, perfect, melting against his palate. Alan himself doesn’t realize he’s eating too enthusiastically until Daigo chuckles at him, making him slow down and straighten on his chair, an annoying heat creeping up his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Daigo hurriedly says, as if he’s the one who’s failed respecting the rules of etiquette, “I don’t mean to make you feel bad. I just like people who have a good appetite.”

“You should see Manon,” he mumbles incoherently under his breath, but the Devon heir has the hearing sense of an Onbat:

“She’s lovely, isn’t she. Very smart and helpful.”

Alan looks at him. “She almost killed you with her quad-driving, didn’t she?”

Daigo nods wordlessly, and it makes him smirk.

“All with good intentions,” the elder man adds just in case, and smiles at the memory, “plus, it did allow me to have a look at the area surrounding the Milokaloss cove. The shapes of the cliffs around it are astonishing.”

Alan pauses, momentarily distracted by the sound of Kōtetsu's hissing noises as the Pokémon gulps its food down. He's never given it much thought before, but how does it eat? 

“Yeah," he responds after a while. "Yeah, they can be quite beautiful.”

“Oh yes, it was breath-taking,” the elder man agrees comfortably, “a wonderful case of coastal abrasion.”

Alan turns. Stares.

“Coastal abrasion,” Daigo reiterates, like it makes it any clearer, “it’s the process by which sea water breaks against the walls of the cliff, and the sand and larger fragments in the water will erode the rocks over time, occasionally making them collapse and creating fascinating patterns in the face of the rocks because of it – something known sometimes as the sandpaper effect.”

Alan stares harder, eyebrows furrowing, when the elder man in front of him bites on his lower lip, abruptly receding in embarrassment:

“I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

“You like rocks?” Alan asks, because that question deserves to be explored.

“I’m…a geology enthusiast, yes,” Daigo’s cheeks look a little pink, and Alan can’t help but stare again. But then, he laughs. Because that’s a little funny and a little cute. A _geology_ _enthusiast_.

“Is that amusing?” Daigo throws a peek at him, a little self-conscious, although he also seems enchanted to see Alan laugh.

“I…Yes, well,” he huffs some more, gentler this time, “I just didn’t expect the heir to Devon Corporation to be capable of fawning over rocks, I suppose.”

“Ah well, what can I say,” he leans forward, eyes glimmering again, “there’s much more to me than meets the eye.”

Alan stops laughing, the remains of a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. Daigo’s gaze is back to its feline, focused state. His tone is non-intrusive, but there’s something warm in it, that makes Alan clear his throat, and focuses on tying Hitokage’s napkin again. 

“Right.”

He pretends not to see the affectionate stare that Daigo leaves lingering over him. At the end of the meal, Hitokage is so sleepy that Alan puts it back into its Pokéball, and Daigo does to the same with Kōtetsu. He’s actually stuffed, which is weird considering how small each of the portions were. Cleaning up the chocolate sauce on his plate with a piece of bread, Alan thinks that maybe, coming out with Daigo wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He’s had a good time. And the Devon heir really hasn’t made him feel uncomfortable during the evening, at all.

“Next time, it’d be better to go to somewhere more casual, though,” he says without thinking, and Daigo reels in.

“Next time?”

Alan freezes, flushing red. But when he finally dares to look at Daigo again, the elder man only seems incredibly soft, arms folded across his chest:

“I would love that,” he says quietly, “Next time, you pick the place, then.”

The bill doesn’t even arrive in Alan’s hands. Daigo pays everything with infinite courteousness, and they slip out of the restaurant into the lukewarm embrace of the night.

“I had a wonderful time, Alan,” he declares once they walked a few metres down the alleyway, and cross a lantern on the wall, “thank you for this perfect evening.”

“Thank _you_ for the meal,” he retorts, and the Devon heir only seems to hesitate for a second before he asks, quite hastily:

“By the way, Alan…Would you be free tomorrow night?”

He turns, confused. It’s dark outside, but under the orange glow of the lantern, Daigo’s face looks a little flushed.

“I think I am,” he lets the silence linger. “Why?”

“It’s just that I’ll be around town. Just hanging out in some of the bars, with Ayakōji and my friend, Mikuri, whom you’ve met. I was wondering if I could meet you somewhere here, in the evening. If you’d like to come along.”

“Oh.”

Alan doesn’t know how to reply, to be completely honest. Going to a bar with Daigo and his friend is one thing, but to go to a bar with his own employer is another…although, well, in theory, Alan only needs to work one more week for the resort, before he can choose to resign. It doesn’t really matter if he leaves a bad impression on Ayakōji now. Besides, from what he’d seen at the pool, his employer isn’t particularly a paragon of good behavior either.    

“I guess that’s alright,” he says with a nod, and Daigo’s face lights up again.

“Marvelous.”

 _Marvelous_ , who says that? He wants to snort, but Daigo has taken a few steps forward, and now he’s standing very close, so close that Alan can see his eyelashes, long and light-colored like his hair. He swallows, keeping his ground. But Daigo doesn’t make a move. His eyes are lidded, lips slightly parted, and he tilts his head very gently to one side:

“May I kiss you?” is all he says.

It’s a bit bewildering. Even as Alan knows exactly what is going to happen next, he feels ridiculous – no one has verbally asked him this since he was fourteen. He nods, wondering if he should close his eyes, and Daigo leans in, breaths tickling his skin, a hand on his neck, and with infinite care, plants a very soft kiss on his cheek.

 _What_.

Alan doesn’t even bother hiding the incredulous look on his face as Daigo pulls away, momentarily pondering whether he should ask ‘what the fuck’ or pretend that he isn’t surprised. But then, the elder man suddenly smirks, his voice still a mere whisper as he purrs, “Just kidding”, and closes in again, kissing his lips.

Daigo kisses caringly. He kisses like he’s passing a message, a clear message, that is tender, and feels good, and Alan has to catch his breath in a small hitched inhale because the other man is making it all too easy to get lost against him. His hand rests on Alan’s jawline, gingerly cupping it, and his eyes are closed. His other arm passes briefly behind Alan’s waist, in a fleeting caress, and then he steps back, smiling, letting Alan go.

“I’m fond of you, Alan,” he still makes a point of saying.

Alan really shouldn’t be affected by that in any way, but he can still feel the presence of Daigo’s lips ghosting over his own, and it’s a little difficult to remember where he is.

“Good night,” he manages after some time.

Daigo walks a few steps backwards, nodding, “I’ll meet you tomorrow at eleven? At the east entrance of the town, where the Donfan fountain is?”

“Yes. Sure,” he croaks.   

“Perfect,” the elder man smiles, “Good night, Alan.”

He leaves without more, and Alan has to let another small breath out, one he didn’t know he was holding. Something bustles in the night. The wind seems a little warmer than it used to be.

 


	3. Nothing promised, no regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mia Martina - Voulez-Vous

 

Daigo wakes up the next morning…and instantly recoils against his pillow because Mikuri is sitting at the edge of his bed, legs crossed, and giving him a mocking grin. With an incoherent mumble of fear, Daigo pulls the covers up to his own chin.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” his friend leers magnanimously.

“…What are you doing in my room?”

“It’s not ‘what are you doing in my room, it’s ‘thank you for bringing me breakfast in bed’.”

“What?”

A waiter in charge of room service is waiting behind Mikuri, a platter of delicacies, ham, and coffee in his hands, looking terribly embarrassed to be there. Daigo jumps out of bed instantly and heads straight for his bag on the chair.

“Shit. Did you seriously nick my room card key, or did you ask the reception to give you a spare?” he snorts as he fumbles through his bag and takes out his wallet, forking for a bill.

Mikuri hums:

“Asked the reception to give me a spare. They know that I know you, so no fuss was made at all. Looks like they remember their customers well.”

“Here, that’s for the trouble,” Daigo puts the Pokédollar bills into the waiter’s breast pocket, then allows him to set the platter down on the dining table, “Arceus, Mikuri. One of these days, you’ll be the death of me.”

He heads towards the balcony door to pull his curtains open, while his friend sends the hotel staff off with a cheerful wave and closes the door again. Mikuri’s wearing a lavender-coloured shirt with flappy slivers of fabric at the shoulders, a striped drop-crotch pantaloon, and the horn of a Sunnygo around his neck.

“Let’s not exaggerate,” he replies, and Daigo peeks at him.

“Did you have your breakfast?”

“Not yet, but that can wait.” Mikuri stretches himself over the chaise longue near the window. His gaze looks playful, but then again, Mikuri usually is, so there isn’t anything particular about that.

Daigo hums slightly as he opens his wardrobe and starts looking for clean clothes in it.

 “Well, the fact that you’re here saves me the trouble of looking for you. Are you free today?”

His friend turns amused eyes at him. “Today, or tonight? I already said yes yesterday for tonight.”

“I was thinking about daytime. If you’re free I thought we could go downtown and do something, since it’s been a while. Shop, maybe. Have coffee... What do you think?”

“Oh, I think someone’s in a good mood,” Mikuri chortles loudly as he sits up, “did you kiss the boy?”

A wrong move later, a pile of Daigo’s clean laundry falls out of his wardrobe and onto the marble floor. He picks it up and turns, scandalised:

“…How?”

“Oh please, Daigo. Your face is an open book to me. Let me guess this. He’s coming tonight?”

“Yes?”

“ _Good_ ,” Mikuri beams, looking appreciative.

“I still don’t recall being this easy to read,” Daigo mutters under his breath, folding his shirts again, “I thought I was doing rather well.”

“I am a Tosakinto inside your head, Daigo. I know what goes on in there so well I might as well do your work for you.”

It’s a creepy statement, when he thinks about it, but that doesn’t stop him from smirking again. After all, he can’t deny that he is in a fantastic mood. Yesterday, he’d come back to the resort’s Pokémon house after dinner on the verge of _whistling_. Metagross, in particular, spent a good amount of time judging him for it.

Mikuri unglues himself from the chaise longue and comes up behind him, reaching over his shoulder to dig into his wardrobe with him:

“Well, if we’re going to be shopping together today, you better dress up nicely,” he says nonchalantly and draws out a summery shirt that he holds up in front of Daigo’s chest, squinting to see how it suits him, “I’m not going anywhere with a man who’s dressed like a stick.”

“I’m never poorly dressed,” Daigo protests with pride, but his friend only rolls his eyes.

“Save that song for another time,” he says, “if you want to score, tonight’s outfit should also be up to me.”

Daigo doesn’t know if that sounds like a safe plan, to be honest. Mikuri works both as a model and as a Contest Spectacular judge; he really has an eye for the shiny outfits that stand out and glimmer. But he also knows Daigo better than Daigo knows himself sometimes. And so, when he replies “alright” with resignation, he does so knowing that he wouldn’t have done the same with anyone else.

Mikuri grins as he places a folder shirt over his friend’s shoulder and digs for more potential outfits.

“I’ve got to say, though, you’ve fallen quite hard this time,” he notes.

“I don’t see what you mean.”

“Please, Daigo. I was there. You were stuttering, the first time you met him.”

Daigo frowns: “So?”

“So, the last time I’ve seen you _stutter_ , we were at a bar and you’d just met me for five minutes,” Mikuri laughs. “See where that led.”

Daigo mumbles something unintelligible. It’s true that he is quite fond of Alan; he even made it a point of telling the younger man this yesterday. But that doesn’t mean he’s fallen head over heels for him or anything like that. It’s just the way his feelings function. When he fancies something or someone, he wants them passionately and without sparing any efforts.

It doesn’t necessarily entail a heartbreak, nor does it mean that he’s falling in love.

“I am fond of him,” Daigo admits, “but I know what I’m doing.”

Mikuri hums and looks away, but the amused glimmer is still there, in his eyes, and Daigo doesn’t know what to make of it. 

*

*

*

Half past eleven. Pitch black sky. Mikuri gaily grinds on the dance floor with a shot of pure vodka in each hand; and Ayakōji is chatting to the barmaid at the counter of the bar they’ve chosen, an underground establishment one street away from the plaza with the Donfan fountain.

Daigo is disappointed.

Alone at a table in one of the quieter corners of the bar, away from the dance floor, he’s not exactly sulking – he can’t, not now anyhow – but he is damn close and feels all the more ridiculous for it. Mikuri has ordered a fishbowl of Pimm’s for their table, a literal fishbowl, which he now wordlessly drinks from using a Pelippa-decorated straw, whilst having to admit to himself that this has rarely happened to him. It just hasn’t. For a very long time.

Alan didn’t show up at the meeting point. They’d waited, of course, for fifteen minutes or so. But the younger man didn’t come, and Daigo couldn’t make Ayakōji wait any further, not when the man was already drunk from chaining shots at the hotel and whining for more. If the resort owner wasn’t there, they probably would have waited for Alan for a while longer. That was Daigo’s fault for trying to pursue Alan in the company of his business partner. Maybe Alan got held up by urgent matters and couldn’t give him a heads-up because they didn’t have each other’s numbers. That was Daigo’s fault too. He’d wanted to wait until today to ask Alan for it, and now, he’s stuck with a fishbowl full of Pimm’s and some massive disappointment to drown in it.

Maybe Alan simply didn’t _want_ to come. And that’s what is getting to Daigo’s head the most.

He takes another long sip of Pimm’s and stirs the cut-up fruits in the bowl, gnawing on his lower lip forcefully. Alan didn’t exactly make him an unbreakable promise. He probably shouldn’t be this gutted by it, but the Kalosian’s absence does feel like a punch in the stomach, and he can’t help it. He’s wanted this, he’s wanted to see Alan again, in spite of Ayakōji’s presence, in spite of all the reasons why he shouldn’t be distracted off the resort’s expansion plans.

But work is work, and he can’t let the night go sour because of him. Maybe he’ll have a dance with the other two first, then call it an early night in an hour or two, once the resort owner finds himself a date, and Mikuri is smashed enough to have fun with anyone. Heaving a sigh, he’s about to stand up when the door to the bar opens, and a young man with dark hair, distinctively messy and thick, steps half-way down the staircase, eyes searching around the room.

Daigo recognizes him embarrassingly fast. Still standing close to the open doorway, Alan lets his eyes run through the crowd, noticing the resort owner near the bar counter first, then finding Daigo with a jolt, and joining him under the rosewood and strawberry lights. He looks slightly breathless, his neck glowing with a thin sheet of sweat that dampens the front of his black shirt.

“Alan,” Daigo begins, astounded.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” the other man pants, embarrassed, “I…got held back on the way.”

“You…”

“Hitokage,” Alan clarifies guiltily, “I didn’t want him to stay home alone.”

Daigo surprises himself when he realises just how glad he is to see the younger man here with him at all. His heart seems like it’s doing unglorified little flips in his chest and he has to shake his head to regain his composure.

“That’s alright, did you,” he wets his lips, “did you take him with you?”

“No, I left him with Manon, she helps me babysit him sometimes. I can’t always be home with him, and I didn’t exactly want to take him with me to a bar, so…”  

So, “I’m glad you could make it,” Daigo admits.

And it’s completely true. Alan wouldn’t even have needed to explain his tardiness to him – the younger man could have been napping and at this point in time, he wouldn’t have given a damn. How long has it been since his pride’s kicked him to the curb, he wonders? It hardly matters. The fact that Alan’s here, the fact that he took the time to look for them even though they’d already left – all of that is more than enough for him to want to stand up, hold Alan in his arms, and twirl him on the spot.

He swiftly invites the younger man to sit down, and nudges the fishbowl towards him:

“Pimm’s?”

Alan glances down at the drink, still evening his breaths, then tilts his head and grabs one of the straws between his teeth to take a long sip.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t wait for you any longer… We should have. I…I thought you would have gone home.”

“No, I,” the younger man flicks some hair away from his eyes, “I did say I’d come.”

He pauses, before adding: “There aren’t too many decent bars around this area anyways, I knew where to look.”

“I’m glad, then,” Daigo softens, “I should have given you my number, so we could have gotten in touch before.”

The lifeguard processes that for a moment. Then he wordlessly reaches into his pocket and pushes his phone onto the table. Daigo picks it up and feels uncharacteristically weak as he enters his number, before letting Alan take the phone back, waiting for him to give him a missed call.

The Kalosian then gives him a once-over, and even though his expression stays neutral, there’s something flighty about his gaze that betrays self-consciousness.

“Nice shirt,” he drops in passing.

Daigo glances down. It’s a floaty and collared one, silky red, that has a black Hakuryu tail coiled around the neck. He did put up a bit of a fight when Mikuri first suggested it for him, because red silk, really? But Mikuri had tutted at him and asserted that red silk would only accentuate the something, something about his eyes – and Daigo had given up and taken the shirt.

Maybe Alan is being sarcastic.

“Mikuri made me wear it. It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s... nice,” Alan plays with his hands, “Mikuri is the friend who was with you at the beach, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he’s dancing at the bar, over there,” Daigo nods, and the younger man turns to have a look, “He’s a dear friend of mine, and I’d trust him with my life, but he does make dubious fashion calls, sometimes.”

“And Ayakōji-san is here too.”

Daigo watches him silently, noting the pensiveness in his voice. Mikuri currently stands near the bar, speaking animatedly with Ayakōji as the two of them sway, seemingly lost in the rhythm and having a pretty good time. Mikuri is an adult, he thinks, and not any kind of adult. He can deal with the likes of Ayakōji, and more; he could deal with ten Ayakōji’s if needed.

“They know each other,” Daigo tells Alan, who raises his eyebrows at him, “so if you would prefer, we could get out of here and go somewhere else.”

“Huh?”

“Well, this is only if you want to,” he reassures, “Ayakōji is your boss. I don’t know how you feel about partying with your boss.”

Alan lets that sink in, the gears turning in his head.

“Well, I _do_ feel a bit weird about that prospect,” he says very carefully, “But would it be alright to leave them here?”

“Mikuri gets along with everyone. And Ayakōji already said he appreciated his company.”

He pauses, swallowing hard, and then adds – because he can’t be dishonest with himself or with Alan for much longer:

“Besides, I…I want to spend more time alone with you.”

He can’t help the caper in his heartbeat when he sees the effect of that on Alan – the almost imperceptible jolt and flutter of eyelashes just before the younger man looks down at their fishbowl, taken by surprise but not entirely shaken. Soon, he’s raising his eyes again with an impassive face, as if making up his resolve.

“Where would you want to go?”

“I don’t know…” Daigo smiles, “I…remember you said yesterday that you’d choose a place next time. I’m open to recommendations.”

“Hmm,” Alan pinches his straw, “there’s a bar that's much quieter than here, around five minutes away. Very chill. It’s called the Gorugu Bar. Do you know it?”

“The Gorugu Bar? No. But try me, I’m open.”

Meanwhile, Alan’s been inputting the address into his mobile, before showing the map and the image of the bar on the screen to him.

“Alright,” Daigo smiles. “Looks nice.”

Alan smiles back, putting the phone back into his pocket. Daigo grabs his straw to take one last gulp, smirking when Alan follows suit. Then, slipping his hand into the younger man’s, he gently guides them through the crowd. As he passes by the bar, he searches Mikuri’s gaze, and manages to cross it briefly, giving him a meaningful look and a nod towards the door. The model only glances at Alan’s back, and smirks before turning away.

Daigo pulls himself and Alan out of there.

The air outside is like a splash of fresh water to the face, drawing a smile out of both of them. Well, for Alan, it’s a faint one, more of a softening of his gaze, rather than a smile. But he looks comfortable and relaxed. Constellations are lighting up the sky above them. Daigo wonders if it’s okay for him to put a hand on Alan’s back or hold his waist while they make their way up the street.

The rest of the way is a quiet one.

The Gorugu bar is not the kind of establishments that Daigo would usually choose to have a drink. But it is far from shabby. Nested in the corner of a street, between two larger houses and half-hidden by growing vines, it has a dimly bluish interior, with a cobalt glow that seems to put Alan at ease. When they sit at a low table hidden away from view, plopping onto the round couch shaped like a Gobito, Daigo orders a jug of fruit punch for both with fresh blackberries on the side. He can’t help noticing that Alan looks relatively more laid-back when there is less of a mob around him. The music contributes to it too, a tropical house-kind of beat that sounds much less aggressive than what was playing in the previous bar they’d visited. The lifeguard sinks into the couch, eyes lidded, watching Daigo pour a glass for each of them, and takes what is given to him without protest.

“Have you been here often?” Daigo probes, and Alan nods.

“A couple of times. It’s been a while, though.”

He takes a gulp before adding:

“And you, Daigo-san, you seem to be getting around alright, even though you’ve only been here two weeks.”

“Not quite two weeks,” he chuckles, “but a major necessity of my stay here is to know this island inside and out, so you can say pub-crawling is part of the homework.”

Alan drinks again, quiet for a bit as he furrows his eyebrows. Daigo tilts his head with a smile:

“What is it?”

“…If I ask you why you’re here, you're just going to evade the question again, aren't you?”

“Well, I don’t think it changes anything much if I do,” he scoots a little closer.

The song playing on the speakers sweeps by them, caressing and fleeting, making him look away.

“I suppose I can just tell you anyways. Ayakōji wants to expand the resort, as you already guessed, and I’m here to help.”

The younger man nods, taking another long gulp. After a brief dithering moment, Daigo shifts so that they are each facing each other on the couch, and lowers his voice a bit: “Does this worry you?”

“It will, if you do anything that could damage the island,” Alan responds.

He lets the younger man the time to gather his thoughts before continuing: “You know that there’s been a huge lot of changes to the environment, since the Ayakōjis came. We’re kind of reaching the island’s maximum capacity.”

“I know. I promise to take that into account and to make sure there’s no harm done to nature or the Pokémon.”

Somehow, Alan doesn’t seem convinced. So Daigo continues: “Devon has no interest in creating scandals for itself. We also have a reputation to maintain, if we want to continue marketing ourselves as a sustainable, future-oriented company. It would be just as much in our interest as it would be in yours that we keep the environmental harm to a minimum.”

Alan looks distractedly at the dancing mob, a dreamy, distant look in his eyes. “Yes, I know. I know Devon has a better reputation than Ayakōji when it comes to environmental protection.”

Now, it’s Daigo’s turn to be interested.

“What makes you think so?”

“You do a lot of corporate social responsibility projects, in particular ones about fossils, where you’ve successfully reintroduced previously extinct Pokémon like Anopth into nature, for example,” Alan elaborates, “I also watched that documentary of yours where your company helped a legion of Cokodora in Hoenn. Manon also told me you asked her questions about the Pokémon living in the mountains, when she took you to the Milokaloss Cove, so I guess you’re already making some research on that.”

Hearing him talk so casually about his father’s company really shouldn’t be a turn on, but it is. Daigo is gradually feeling warm again. He moves one leg underneath the other, staring deeply into Alan’s eyes.

“Do you trust me, then?” he asks, and this is important. It’s too much to ask – he knows – they’ve known each other for such a short period of time and there is no way he can get a real response to this question. But he wants Alan to trust him. So much.

To his surprise, the younger man kind of chortles through his nose.

“What a weird question...”

“That’s not really an answer…”

“Why does it matter, it’s not on me that you’re building a resort.”

“No, but I care about what you think of me,” he admits wholeheartedly, and it somehow shocks him that he’s saying this out loud, “I like you quite a bit, Alan, and I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

Alan studies him, and for a moment Daigo thinks he’s involuntarily cornered him, but a second later, he snorts again.

“Well,” he says, “this is going kind of fast…and... we don’t know each other very well. But I guess I had a good time yesterday,” he thinks, stares at him, “and I’m having a good time now.”

Daigo’s pulse is beating loudly in his ears. He allows his hand to wander from the strands of soft hair near Alan’s ear to his cheekbone and then downwards to his chin, where he gently tilts the younger man’s head up. He watches as Alan swallows.

“Do you mind if I kiss you?”

Alan answers only after a beat:

“No,” he murmurs, “I don’t.”

Daigo puts his glass away and slides a hand against Alan’s knuckles. The lifeguard’s fingers, until now tapping a rhythm that didn’t match with the music, stop moving altogether as they wait, letting the elder man caress them with his thumb, carefully and affectionately. Alan's expression is a little loose, slackening even further while Daigo moves in. He angles his head to let Daigo brush his lips against his, closes his eyes before opening them again when Daigo pulls away.

He’s so attractive.

With a helpless groan, Daigo closes in and kisses him again.

For a while, they just exchange small pecks, torpid and easy. Daigo simply accords the same amount of reverence to every inch of skin he gets: the soft spot at the corner of Alan’s mouth, his jawline, his cheeks, his neck... He's satisfied with the way Alan turns his head to let him pepper him with kisses along the jugular. There’s no need for more. Daigo is content with just kissing him. He tugs Alan's shirt up to rub a thumb against the warm skin on his stomach, caressing his sides and leaving fleeting pecks on the younger man's mouth, lets Alan holds him close in return with their eyes closed, exhaling occasional sighs when they part to take a breath... It's such an easy rhythm that soon, Daigo begins to crave more contact. He kisses Alan’s lips but makes it more languorous this time, teasing until he opens up for him and takes him in completely. And Alan responds, lazily, tongue slithering against his. As he deepens the kiss and makes Alan groan, Daigo thinks he could wake up to him in the morning.

He pushes a little more, dips the younger man against the armrest, and grinds against him - harder - desperate to get rid of the distance between them. The way the younger man claws at his back, pushing until he’s gotten five fingers filing through his hair, and the low moan that comes out his throat when Daigo sucks at the skin on his neck, is what really pushes Daigo over the edge and makes him think that, ok, he's lied to himself. This is not enough.

He wants one thing now. It’s getting to his head, like he’s catching fire, and he can’t shake it off. He wants it so terribly bad.

As he breaks away and catches his breath, Daigo meets with Alan’s slightly confused – and dazed – gaze.

“Sorry,” he smiles, though the blood and the alcohol, everything this evening has already brought him, are still consuming him alive, “this isn’t a very appropriate setting.”

The other man kind of snorts while rearranging his disheveled hair, like he isn’t sure what the hell he is talking about.

“We’re in a bar full of drunk people, I don’t see what the problem is,” the lifeguard points out after a while.

“True,” Daigo concedes, “but if we take it any further, I think we would have to relocate.”

“If we take it any further?”

He waits, waits for the words to sink in, for the younger man to look at him and see the full extent of the damage, and the undeniable signs betraying how much further he is ready to break. His pants are already uncomfortably tight and the proximity between Alan and him is only worsening it for him. But he can’t do this alone, he can’t do this without Alan on board and wanting him back. The lifeguard is still staring at him, flushed, breaths shallow.

“Only if you want to,” Daigo murmurs, “would you like to?”

Alan is obviously considering it, soundlessly playing with Daigo’s collar. _He’s not there yet_ , Daigo thinks with a touch of dread. _Maybe I’m going too fast again, he’s not there yet_. Then, suddenly, Alan bites on his lips: “Why not,” he breathes out.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, because really, this is starting to go beyond what his self-control is comfortable with, and if Alan says ‘Yes’, he might just come apart. “No pressure. You don’t have to say yes, if you’re not up to it.”

“I know,” the younger man shrugs, hair in his eyes. “but I’m up to it.”

Daigo nods, stupidly, chest heaving. He still has a hand on Alan’s neck.

“Alright,” he states after a while, closing the distance to plant a peck on Alan’s lips, “alright, I’ll pay the bill.”

*

*

*

The taxi ride to the hotel is quiet. Alan spends most of the silence thinking that this hasn’t happened much to him in the past. He’s had dirty encounters in clubs’ toilets; he’s had the stumbling and fumbling into somebody’s house, and the clumsy intoxicated sex on the couch. He hasn’t been involved in taxi rides to a fancy five-star resort, with the heir to a giant conglomerate holding his hand and rubbing slow circles into his palm, yeah, no, that doesn’t really happen to him.

He’s not even tipsy. He’s had one glass of punch and a sip of Pimm’s and thinking about the surrealism of his situation is starting to make him wonder whether he’ll still be in the mood when they arrive. Then again, Daigo did say ‘no pressure’. If his libido drops below a certain level he can probably still say goodnight and go. The idea of walking away doesn’t really appeal to him, though.

If he’s honest with himself, his nerves have been fluttering beneath his skin since earlier this evening. Rather than closing in on him and choking him as anxiety would, though, they have made him feel oddly light, and he knows what this burgeoning, airy feeling hints towards. He’s been _anticipating_ this. Why else would he have tried to find Daigo despite arriving too late to catch him at the fountain? Maybe he’s been anticipating this since yesterday, maybe since the night at the pool… Either way, Daigo’s interest in him isn’t putting him off, and he wants to see where this feeling leads.

The hotel lobby is pretty empty when they arrive – something he’s thankful about – and so, Alan follows the resort guest amenably as he leads them to the elevator. The entire place looks like a castle, and he’s only been here once, during the pool party; he’s never seen the upper floors before. Each corridor, golden and burgundy, reminds him of the Parfum Palace, which his parents have once taken him to when he was small, and he is both a little awed and a little miffed by it.

Five-star resort hotels really are pointlessly extravagant.

“Here’s the room,” Daigo announces casually as they walk to the end of a corridor and pushes a massive pair of maple doors open.

Alan steps in and stops.

The Devon heir’s room is _ridiculous_. It isn’t a bedroom; it’s a full-on apartment, with immaculate marble flooring and pillars of a coral or some other arrogant shade, topped by sculpted capitals, and ornate ceilings. The corner furthest away from the windows – the too numerous arched windows, _who needs that many?_ – is taken by a round mahogany table buried under documents and electronic devices, and the wall next to it has another double door, leading to, Alan guesses, some snow-white bathroom that must be just as pretentious as the rest of the palace. Daigo’s canopy bed, of course, has to be king-sized, currently covered by silky crimson sheets, with feathery, honeyed pillows on top, and honestly, Alan can’t have sex in here, this is a museum.

He turns around and stares at Daigo, who looks mildly surprised.

“What’s wrong?” he glances at the table, then scratches his head, “oh, my bad. This place is a mess, as you can see I haven’t been very orderly with my documents.”

“The documents are not the problem here, I think,” Alan drops, still studying each piece of furniture, including the crystal chandelier on the ceiling that looks large enough to kill them both if it falls. He takes a few hesitant steps towards the table, inspecting the papers on top. They look like a series of blueprints, some barred with red crosses, framed by formulas, and representing an apparatus that he can’t quite understand yet, but which, judging by its size, must be pretty massive.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Daigo smiles at him from across the room. His voice is still mellow and respectful, “would you like me to put on some music?”

“Arceus, please, no.”

Daigo chuckles. While the other man busies himself near one of the night desks, Alan studies the blueprints some more, trying to make sense of them. It looks like some kind of warping system, but it’s gigantic, and the rest of the plans seem completely unrelated to it, depicting normal architecture. If he could solve the formulas, at least, he could see what exactly needs to be distorted like that.

A hand, then two, slip around his waist and slide towards the rim of his shorts, and Alan cranes his neck to see Daigo’s figure pressed up against his back, smirking slyly at him.

“You shouldn’t be looking at this.”    

One hand sneaks under his shirt, rubbing gently against his stomach, and Alan’s breaths catch in his throat. He’s a little ticklish, and Daigo is _very_ close. The elder man’s had a lot more to drink than he did but doesn’t sound any different than on usual days. His eyes, though, look definitely more glazed than normal. They betray desire and longing, and Alan has to keep one hand on the edge of the mahogany table to steady himself when Daigo’s fingers inch their way between his legs.

An involuntary noise escapes him, but the elder man doesn’t stop. He plays with him, using two fingers then three and four, deftly stroking and fondling him, and Alan soon has to let out a shaky sigh, carefully backing up against Daigo, who buries his face into his hairline and kisses his nape, tenderly, repeatedly.

“Does it feel good?” he hears the elder man purr against his ear, but his head is spinning a little and he can’t answer much more than a huff. He didn’t even think Daigo could get him into the mood this fast, but then again, this is what they came all the way here for, isn’t it? His legs tremble a bit as the elder man continues his ministrations, leisurely and deliberate.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

He didn’t think Daigo could be so smug in this kind of situations, either. In any case, the sharp gasp that the elder man makes when Alan bucks against him is somewhat satisfying. He twists until they’re face to face, enjoying the look of lust that Daigo’s presenting him for a second or two, and then jerks the other man forward to crash their lips together.

It’s a bit of a mess. There’s a lot of pulling, a lot of shoving and grunting, and before long, the mess on the table has fallen to the floor, and Alan lets the elder man drag him towards the bed, angrily sucking at his lips. They grind against each other, until he is only inches from the bed and the back of Daigo’s knees hit the mattress first. The elder man sits down first, lost, holding Alan’s waist between his thighs with wide-eyed wonderment over his pretty face. Alan’s still got enough common sense to start unbuttoning the elder man’s shirt, who, instead of letting him do the job in peace, decides to bury his face into his chest and inhale sharply like he’s on drugs, before blowing out ungracefully against him:

“Damn it,” Daigo mumbles against his shirt, “you really smell amazing.”

Maybe that’s flattering, but Alan has a task to do, here. Woozy and light-headed, he only makes it through two more buttons before Daigo tightens his hold around him and yanks him onto the bed, drawing out a yelp out of him.

The elder man boots both their shoes off, then gets him onto his back, gently pushing the hair out of his face before watching him in silence, with unguarded eyes that don’t suit him at all.

“I’m really fond of you, Alan.”

Alan takes the opportunity to get rid of the last buttons and to slide the shirt off Daigo’s shoulders. He clears his throat:

“You said that already.”

“And I’d like to say that again,” the elder man whispers, leaning down to nuzzle Alan, sucking on the skin below his ear, before cooing again, “I want you to enjoy this.” He edges one hand down towards Alan’s belt even as he talks. “Every second of this.” His lips and tongue press against Alan’s throat, slowly claiming it.

Alan throws his head back, breathing in deeply, and allows Daigo to undress him with conscientiousness, kissing each part of skin that he exposes, and marking him one step at a time. It’s almost maddening how deft the man is. By the time he has removed every last piece of clothing off him, Alan’s skin feels sweltering hot, and yet, he is shivering at every sweep of tongue, every grazing of fingers over him. Daigo envelopes him like a cloak, leaving no escape, and even so he finds himself wanting more intimacy. More heat. 

After a struggle, he sits up again and captures Daigo’s lips, demanding access and pushing until the elder man opens his mouth. He wants to bring them closer to each other; doesn’t quite know where to start. Hooking his fingers to a handful of annoying silver hair, he struggles to keep the kiss going, even as Daigo busies himself with the unbuckling of his own belt. Alan would help him if his mind wasn’t already half-gone. He breaks away only when he hears the violent clatter of the belt on the floor and closes his eyes to catch his breath. Daigo’s left hand caress his thighs, nails grazing up his burning skin.

“How…which way do you want this?” the other man suddenly asks him, raw and eager. And it really doesn’t matter much. At this point, Alan can barely choose, he just wants to feel Daigo in any way possible – as _much_ of him as possible.

The elder man looks feverish and flushed before him, but still spreads Alan’s legs diligently with his hands. Alan just wants to shatter him, to make him crumble under him like a pile of cards... Or maybe he wants to be the one crumbling. Fuck knows. All that is certain right now is the feeling of Daigo's hands on his inner thighs. There is a fixed, murky cloud burning in the elder man's eyes, and looking at it kind of makes him weak. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he stammers, grabbing onto the elder man’s neck with a clammy hand, “just…” he pants, knowing that Daigo's crowding his space, feeling him approvingly, “just…”

“Hmm?”

The elder man’s fingers, which have treacherously traced a line up his parted legs, come to a close where Alan sees white and has to squeeze his eyes shut, clasping Daigo not to fall.

“I…” he starts, then jerks when the other man strokes him again.

“Yes…?”

“Fuck,” he pants, eyelids fluttering, “Daigo, just…” he’s out of words.

“Alan…” the elder man leans forward his voice a mere, avid whisper. He moves his hand again, and Alan twitches, exhales, clutches Daigo's shoulders:

“Do it please,” he pleads.

The other man holds him a little tighter, starts to pump. It's wonderful and not enough. He wants to whimper, and moans instead:

“Please,” he shuts his eyes, can’t even give enough fucks to care about pride, “please. Fuck. Please...”

Daigo still torments him for a few moments more. He makes him throb and arch his back, and plead incoherently until he almost loses it. Then, the elder man stops – the bastard – he stops, and takes the time to kiss his throat before moving away, letting Alan fall back limply against the pillows, trying to calm the rushing storm in his ears, trembling, gradually losing track of the mess of fire and want that are his own thoughts. When he catches a glimpse of the other man crawling up to him once more, it’s with a familiar bottle in hand, condom between his fingers. He looks up to the ceiling, keeping his breathing even and grunting when Daigo fills his vision again, stroking his hair and propping his legs up, before fastening himself to Alan's neck. Alan feels cold, wet fingers brushing against him at the same time. He puts a wrist over his eyes, and exhales.

There really isn’t anything romantic about this. For Alan, anyhow, sex has never been synonymous with romance, and he’s found that as much as he’s fallen apart in bed for someone in the past, it’s rarely led to anything more than a physical ghost, a flame that burns him up fast and intensely, leaving nothing than ashes in its wake. With Daigo, the sensations are akin to a thundering squall, but it’s no less coarse. It’s powerful, headstrong, rash; it rouses and pulses through him until his entire body is nothing but desire, pleasure and desperation. But at the height of it, even at the height of it, when his voice is broken into moans and groans, when Daigo’s composure is far gone and his grunts approaches one of delirious fever, he finds that they’re burning too fast, too passionately, and he knows that at the end, there will be nothing tangible that remains.

The only thing that remains is utter fascination, when they do finally come apart, and Daigo grounds against him, emptied, his hair humid from the sweat, utter fascination at the agape smile that the elder man gives him – a brittle and genuine sight.

*

*

*

Alan’s eyelids flutter open – and it costs him an effort. The first thing he sees, though, is Daigo’s face, the elder man lying under the covers with him with an affectionate smile, his hand tenderly caressing Alan’s cheek.

Awake at once, he blinks a few times, and opens his mouth.

“Good morning,” Daigo purrs peacefully, snuggled close. And he’s quite a sight.

His hair is dishevelled, but also a bit humid and his face looks sparkling clean, which is somewhat bizarre, along the fact that it’s already bright outside, and half of the curtains – the ones farthest from the bed – have been pulled open. He’s also wearing a bathrobe, something Alan definitely doesn’t remember him going to bed with.

“Did you,” Alan begins, voice hoarse with sleep, “shower and come back to bed?”

“Yes.”

That’s a bit awkward, considering that Alan’s made a filthy mess of the bedsheets yesterday. Also, Alan himself is still stark naked, and the elder man is still warmly stroking his cheek while staring at him fixedly, which is beginning to make him blush against his will.

He drags himself up and lets Daigo’s hand fall against his hip, along with the silky covers.

“What time is it?”

“Still early,” the Devon heir puckers his lips, “nearly seven in the morning?”

He still has some margin before his next shift at the beach then. A groggy glance around the room allows him to notice that the area near the bed has been cleaned while he was sleeping. The used condom is gone, along with the lubricant…His clothes from yesterday have been folded and set over the armrest of the chaise longue beneath the window. The round table with the blueprints looks considerably emptier than it did yesterday, too, but the rest of the pack of condoms lies innocently on top of the night desk, as if forgotten by coincidence.

Alan peers down at Daigo, who smiles at him.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Can I borrow your shower?”

“Of course,” the elder man finally sits up as well, slipping out of the bed, “I have a spare bathrobe and towels that you can use. Let me know if you need help with the water temperature.”

“Thanks.”

He takes the bathrobe and towels handed to him and tries to ignore the sheepish smile on Daigo’s face. In vain.

“What?” he mutters.

“Nothing, just thinking I would really like to kiss you.”

Ah. Alan bites down on his words. Okay. The other only tilts his head sideways.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. You don’t have to ask each time-” he replies, and almost chokes on the end of his sentence when the elder man instantly takes him up on it, smooching him delicately on the lips. It’s the surprise that makes Alan look down at the floor, and he barely notices when Daigo moves away and pushes a pair of slippers towards him with his foot:

“Here. Don’t catch a cold.”

Alan mumbles his thanks again, retreating into the bathroom as fast as he can, and locking the door behind him just in case. He has to pause, of course, because the bathroom is just as ludicrous as he’d imagined it. The tub is fucking _octagonal_. It also has a whole keyboard of buttons, and a jacuzzi function, and really, Alan doesn’t need to see any more than this. He steps in and opens the tap, turns the water’s heat up, then waits patiently to drown his own feelings in it.

Twenty minutes later, when he re-emerges with a cleansed soul and body, wrapped safely in his fluffy white bathrobe, breakfast has been served on the mahogany table. Daigo’s sitting there already. He’s texting someone on his phone, but stops as soon as he sees Alan return, and sort of just...gapes at him.

“What is this,” Alan points at the series of cloches on the table, which has been dragged to the centre of the room, and the elder man finally closes his mouth again.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he hurriedly says, still smiling. “I ordered room service while you were in there.”

“You…didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Daigo asserts, then looks like he’s dying to say something more, and finally gives in, “I’ve been wanting to ask you, Alan, how do you like your eggs in the morning?”

Alan stares. Squints.

“Scrambled?”

“Right.”

Is it him, or Daigo is embarrassed? He sits down at the table somewhat awkwardly, wondering if this is okay – it’s domestic, like he’s been having breakfast with the heir of Devon corporation for half his life. The Devon heir looks in a good mood though, presenting him with the plate containing scrambled eggs, serving him orange juice…Alan could perhaps get used to this.

“Thank you,” he says after a while, because being comfortable is one thing – he can’t forget his manners.

Daigo throws a diffident glance at him.

“For?”

“For this,” he points at the food, breaking pieces off his croissant and nibbling on them, “and also-” he clears his throat, mumbling, “for yesterday.”

 “Oh,” the other man purses his lips, putting the jug of juice down, “you’re welcome.” Another silence. “I should be the one thanking you for yesterday.”

They catch sight of one another’s faces across the table, pausing, before breaking into equally helpless huffs, snorting and chuckling at each other.

“Do you still have to work today?”

“Yes, I have a shift in an hour and a half. But I need to pick up and take care of Hitokage first…”

“Oh…So I can’t keep you for very long, then?”

“Um,” Alan peers at him over his croissant, “no, you cannot.”

“Let me at least call a taxi for you, then,” Daigo sighs, standing up. And for all his playful moping, Alan is grateful that the other man isn’t trying to make him linger around. “When do you want it to arrive? Is twenty minutes enough for you to get ready?”

“Yeah… Thank you.”

Daigo uses the screen near the entrance to place his call. He then returns while Alan downs the rest of his juice, and shoves in a few mouthfuls of scrambled eggs before peeling himself off the chair and making a beeline for his clothes. At the back of his mind, though, he does wonder if he should say something more – if there should be something more to this. But Daigo cuts him to the chase from where he’s standing, leaning against the bedpost:

“Alan.”

He turns, meeting the steel grey gaze head-on.

“Can I see you again?”

He’s smiling, but Alan notices it’s a bit hesitant – almost _shy_ , in fact, which is not an adjective he would usually associate with Daigo at all. But that’s the only thing this smile could be. And that’s somehow enough to make a warm feeling curl up in him, not quite unpleasant, but definitely troubling. He does want this, though, whatever it is turning out to be. He doesn’t want it with certainty, but enough for him to acquiesce, at least.

“Yeah,” and he offers a smile in return, just to show he’s sincere.

The other man beams. They have each other’s number anyway.

For now, he focuses on getting changed as swiftly as possible. This might not have been the first time that Hitokage’s spent the night at Manon’s, but he does feel guilty about it still. And Manon will have a lot of questions.

“Would you like to take some food for Hitokage?” Daigo suddenly asks from behind him, and he spins around.

There’s still a mountain of breakfast on the table, which he somehow had omitted before, including three plates of eggs, smoked salmon, butter and jam, foie gras, and at least four different kinds of bread. The Devon heir looks a little out of his depth, lifting a cloche to reveal the poached eggs underneath, and Alan bites down on his lower lip, because this is all sorts of absurd.

“You could take anything.”

“Did you really order all the types of eggs you could _think_ of?”

“I didn’t know which you liked best,” Daigo winces, “if you don’t take anything with you, I’ll just have an egg party over here by myself.”

“I, uh, I could offer some to Manon.”

“Wonderful,” the other man lets out a sigh of relief, heading to the screen to order some plastic containers.

It’s funny. Watching his silhouette from the back, Alan doesn’t find Daigo all that sophisticated anymore. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he’s seen the other man fully aroused, repeating his name senselessly last night – yes, maybe it has _a lot_ to do with that – but it also has to do with how relaxed he looks, so tranquil, his hair a mess, looking almost small in that fluffy bathrobe.

The boxes come within five minutes, and within five more, Alan is ready to go.

“See you soon, Alan,” Daigo sees him off at the door, cupping his cheek and kissing him one more time.  

Something flutters very dimly again at the warm glow in the other man’s eyes. Maybe Alan can’t get used to it after all, but at least, he feels no pressure in kissing back either.

*

As soon as Daigo closes the door behind Alan, he crashes onto his bed again and wails into his hands.

“Fuck,” he puts a hand over his eyes, then again, with a laugh of disbelief, “fuuuuck.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. And for a second, he has it all. Alan’s blue eyes. Alan’s smile. Alan’s lean body quivering under his hands. Even though the younger man is gone, walked out the door, he has it all.

It takes him all at once. _Over_ takes him – engulfs him like smoke, and he’s falling through – he knows he is – but there’s nothing he can do or wants to do to stop it. The ink drops in water and spreads. He’s a spectator to it, mesmerized, weightless, and spellbound.

Yanking his phone out of the bathrobe’s pocket, he calls Ayakōji’s team and orders a boat for work purposes. The fumes though, they’re still surrounding him, keeping him in a chokehold, and he feels all the better because of them, leaning his head back and inhaling them by the lungful.

  

 


	4. It turns into gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B.O.B (ft Rivers Cuomo) - Magic

 

Daigo doesn’t contact him by text. Instead, he requests one of the waiters on the beach to deliver a sandia slurpee to him during his shift, along with a note that says:

“ _Could I get you interested in dinner at 7:30pm tonight, in the observatory?_ ”

And Alan wonders why the other man can’t ever do things like a normal person.   

They get a rhythm going. Neither of them really works towards it, or actually, maybe Daigo works both their shares, so that, somehow, the spaces between them easily fall into place, and Alan simply follows the beat. They meet in the evenings mostly, when the beach closes for high tide; and each time, Daigo finds ways to make it comfortable for him, scheming and plotting things until it is perfectly natural for them to enjoy their time together without obligations or regrets. They’ve been to the movies, to dinner, to swim in the sea on the less touristic parts of the island, while the sun sets and casts golden shadows all over them... Most often, they end up repatriating to Daigo’s room, conversing lazily on the canopy bed, before things heat up – as they inevitably do.

After a couple of times, Alan starts taking Hitokage with him to work and if he knows he’s staying overnight at the resort, he lets him stay in the Pokémon house with Kōtetsu – always with a twinge of guilt but preferring that option to taking him to Daigo’s bedroom. The Devon heir is needy, incredibly needy, and most of the time it’s Alan who collapses first, the elder man who initiates the second round; Alan who goes for the third just because he wants to have the last word – and still, Daigo wins in terms of stamina. He’s also awfully good at getting Alan riled up, awfully good at making him _want_ him, and applies himself so diligently in learning each of Alan’s sensitive spots that by their fourth time already, he gets him hard, keening, and coiled around him a couple of minutes after entering the room. And it’s alarming in a way, how easily Daigo has made this for him. But he likes it.

He’s enjoying this so much more than he was initially prepared to.

“You know, my offer for training Hitokage still stands,” the elder man tells him one day after they’ve filled up the bathtub for themselves and Alan peers at him through the purple foam and rose petals.

“I told you Hitokage’s not ready.”

“You don’t know until you try,” Daigo shrugs, splashing water while grabbing a petal between his fingers. “And as I said, I would hold back. I wouldn’t break my word on that.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t…”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I’ve overworked him once,” Alan confesses reluctantly, hating the memory all over again as he watches a bubble pop above the surface of the bath, “I tried to go too fast with his training… we went against a trainer with an Iwark and it ended beyond terribly, and I,” he cringes, “I just don’t want to see him in that state because of my own stupidity again.”

Daigo observes him soundlessly. He doesn’t ask why he’s tried to push Hitokage so hard, though, and that is one of the main reasons Alan appreciates the other man’s company, in fact. He reins in his curiosity. He observes, draws conclusions, and sometimes even holds judgment, but he doesn’t ask unless he’s almost certain that Alan’s comfortable with answering.

“How did you get Hitokage?” the elder man hums instead.

Alan softens, shoulders relaxing.

“Two years ago, from my uncle and aunt, at Christmas,” he explains, then snorts softly, “now that I think back, I guess it was a way for them to let me go.”

With a neutral sound, Daigo scoots closer to him, making the tub squeak, and offers him a smile.

“Well, making sure Hitokage isn't overworked is something I can totally respect. I wish you'd do the same for yourself, Alan. Your eyebags have gotten bigger in the past two weeks.”

Alan stares at him, somewhat flabbergasted.

“Whose fault is it?” he scowls, wide-eyed, “who do you think’s been keeping me up at night in the past two weeks and a half?”

“Me…?”

“Exactly. If you want me to sleep, maybe we should stop meeting each other from today onwards.”

Daigo pouts and leans over, making a kissy face at him, that he pushes away with an annoyed grunt: “Don’t.”

“Oh, don’t be so cruel to me,” the elder man chuckles, “I think you’re pretty, with or without eyebags.”

Alan makes a circle with his index and thumb and squirts water in Daigo’s face. It’s unbelievably gratifying for a couple of seconds when the elder man yelps, but then the light in his eyes changes and he comes tackling Alan under the water, making the tub overspill and both of them topple over.

“What are you, a child?” Alan gripes as the elder man holds him by the waist from behind and starts to nuzzle him.

“A child?” Daigo mocks, eyes glowing, “says the guy who shot water at my face only a second ago.”

Alan feels him tighten his hold on him, getting chummy and comfortable as they slide back to the edge of the tub. He allows himself to be manoeuvred between Daigo’s legs, the elder man wrapped around him still planting warm kisses onto his nape, making exaggerated pecking noises as he does. That’s another thing Alan had not expected about this thing of theirs – that Daigo would be so damn affectionate, and demonstrative about his affection.

“I have another question that’s been bothering me, Alan…” the elder man whispers after a while.

He lets out a sigh.

“Go ahead.”

“When you saved me like a mermaid, back when we first met…did you have to do CPR on me?”

“…No, you woke up when I was about to.”

Daigo nibbles his shoulder soundlessly, drawing lines on his wet skin with his teeth and using his hands to rub his sides underwater. Alan frowns: “You really are childish.”

“Me? No, I was just wondering when our first kiss was,” he smiles, “kissing you for the first time while I’m conscious is a lot more romantic…”

“Hmm. Yeah. Sure,” Alan mumbles.

Maybe Daigo’s heard the unconvinced tone of his voice and that’s pricked him somewhere in that overinflated ego of his. He soon lets go of Alan’s waist, and stops gnawing on him. The absence of hands on him is somehow disconcerting, so Alan twists backwards, looks to see if he’s offended him, and when he does, Daigo clasps his cheek, kissing him languidly and parting his lips dexterously to push into his mouth.

‘ _Sneaky bastard’_ , Alan wants to say, but it comes out as an incoherent grunt that has Daigo chuckling in his throat, piloting Alan’s body until they’re face to face again, groins pressed against each other.

“You’re really, really childish,” Alan slips in when he gets a chance, wiping off some foam stuck to Daigo’s temple.

But the elder man doesn’t defend himself. The look that he gives Alan instead is bright, full of wonder, and strangely vulnerable.

 

So, Alan hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in two weeks and a half – then again, Daigo probably hasn’t either – but at least, he’s sent off his application to the Fleurdelys Laboratories on time, along with his pay of the last few months. At the sight of the confirmation email in his inbox, he’d first fist-pumped and shared a moment of celebration with Hitokage, and then phoned Manon, listening to her scream into his ear, as excited for him as if he’d been hired already. No talk of him leaving just yet. She has, on the other hand, asked him many questions about Daigo.

“Alright, but is he weird?”

They’re sitting in a café by the side of a shopping street downtown, a café gourmand for him and a lemon sorbet for her. With her spoon hanging in her mouth, she narrows her eyes and points at him:

“I’m not asking for details about what you do…” Alan almost spits his ice cream out. “…but does he have a sixth toe on one foot? Or a third eye? Or an embarrassing tattoo in an awkward place?”

He stares at her, Hitokage on his knees.

“No, he doesn’t… but what would you do if he did have any of that?” 

“Nothing,” she shrugs, “it’d just be nice to know that rich people also have ordinary human problems.”

Alan wants to point out that having a third eye definitely isn’t an ordinary human problem but abstains and simply exchange a look with Hitokage. They both sigh, while Harimaron shares their scepticism, shaking his head helplessly.

“And… does he treat you well?” Manon interrogates once more, poking at her sorbet hesitantly.

He feels kind of touched by the concern in her voice. But it’s almost alarming how little there is to worry about. Daigo might have a huge ego, and he might seem borderline cocky when he teases, but he also treats Alan with consideration, respects his boundaries, and seems overly intent on giving Alan a brilliant time each time they meet, while not asking much of him in return. Daigo does not even require emotional commitment from him. Sometimes, he wonders if Daigo only sees him as he does business – a process of giving and receiving reasonable consideration in exchange – and nothing more. And if so, the fact that Alan indulges him so easily could raise some questions about his sense of self-worth…but Daigo is not chaining him into anything. He simply takes the first step, and Alan meets him willingly in the middle.

In fact, it’s Alan who comes out each time feeling like he’s had a good time at the elder man’s expense, and wonders whether it’s okay to do so.

Manon’s hand waving in front of his eyes makes him blink.

“Yoohoo, earth to Alan.”

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, then takes a scoop of ice cream and offers it to Hitokage, “I got a bit distracted.”

“You haven’t answered my question, though.”

“You shouldn’t be worried about that,” he retorts instead, “it’s nothing serious between us. We just meet because it’s convenient to do so, but it’ll be over in two weeks’ time, when he returns to Hoenn.”

“And you’re really okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Alan frowns.

At this, Manon puts down her spoon, and even Harimaron looks worriedly at her.

“Alan,” she says seriously for once, which is absolutely out of character for her, and a terribly unsettling sight for him, “it’s only been about three weeks since you know him, but for the past two weeks, you’ve seen him, like, every single day? And you said yourself that he’ll be gone in two more weeks. That’s the first time it’s happened to you.”

“What do you mean by the first time?”

“Well, you…usually invest yourself a lot in your relationship,” Manon plays nervously with her glass, “and then you get hurt, so I can’t help but think… what if this is just going too fast? I don’t want that you to get hurt when he leaves.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to process it, either. Because of course, Alan does take a long time opening up in relationships, usually. He usually doesn’t sleep with someone on the second date, either. But a lot of things are unusual about this thing he shares with Daigo… And of course, Daigo is bound to leave – that sentence’s been pronounced quite clearly since the start and has been hanging over their head ever since. But Alan will too. They’ve kind of proceeded on this basis, had they not? They don’t know each other’s secrets, they don’t share intimate anecdotes about each other’s pasts like lovers do, they don’t make promises, and they don’t love or expect to be loved.

He hasn’t even thought of the possibility of being hurt by Daigo, when they’d given each other so little ammunition to do so.

“The fact that I meet him often doesn’t mean I’ll miss him when he leaves,” he says quietly.

Hitokage, Harimaron, and Manon all look at him.

“What?” he scowls, miffed, “it’s true.”

“If you say so, Alan,” she mumbles, “I mean, who knows? He might come back from time to time to check on the progress of the expansion project, so you could see him then, if you want.”

Alan stiffens and Hitokage must feel it, because he turns his head to him with a troubled gaze, as if silently asking him what he wants to do. But that’s the problem. Alan still hasn’t thought through how to talk about this with Manon, and really doesn’t want to have this conversation now. He knows how the discussion would start, but not how it would end. ‘ _You know I’m leaving right? I might not come back here after settling somewhere else_.’

And then, what?

Part of him just thinks that she doesn’t need a reminder. He’ll just leave when he leaves, and she will accept it naturally then, nothing more complicated than that. The other part is calling himself a coward, because he knows she deserves to have this – this, whatever this is – acknowledged. They’ve spent so much time together, his very first memories on Milokaloss Island involve her, as a very small toddler, when he was still lost and very sad. To say goodbye to her will break his heart.

Manon looks up from her sorbet, and then past Alan’s head, only to gawk in awe.

“Whoa.”

“Hmm?” Alan blinks.

He turns, and notices the tall man standing behind him, who’s just walked out of the café with an ice pop in his mouth and is now filing through the belongings in his purse. He’s ethereal and nymph-like, and so fashionably dressed that Alan himself can’t help but stare, finding it difficult to swallow, all of a sudden. He recognizes those curly strands of jade hair beneath the wide-brimmed hat, though. This is Daigo’s best friend, Mikuri.

“He’s so gorgeous,” Manon whispers in a high-pitched tone, while Harimaron nods furiously, and Mikuri turns to smile at her.

Her face turns scarlet even as he speaks: “Well, how kind of you. Thank you very much.”

“I – I – I – I,” she fumbles, horrified.

Mikuri looks down and tilts his head, flashing another white smile: “Oh. And that’s Alan! Fancy seeing you here.”

“You know each other?” Manon splutters.

Alan shakes Mikuri’s extended hand, although he can’t help but notice that Daigo’s nowhere to be seen.

“He’s Daigo’s friend, Mikuri,” he explains, while Manon struggles to close her mouth. “We met once at the beach.”

“Rima,” Harimaron looks absolutely gutted.

Mikuri only laughs and takes off his sunglasses, holding his ice pop with his other hand: “You must be Manon.”

She chokes. “How do you know…?”

“I see you two together sometimes at the beach, and Daigo explained that Alan had a very close friend by that name, who came to visit,” he grins. On anyone else but Mikuri, the nonchalance would have been unsettling. “I spend a lot of time at the beach and a lot of time in Daigo’s company, so you can say I’m well-acquainted with you two…indirectly.”

“Daigo talks about m…us?” Alan frowns.

“A lot!” the taller man hums, chewing the tip off his ice pop, still benevolent and calm but also markedly amused, “he’s a one-track mind kind of individual, so, not quite sure what to do with himself anymore when he’s...obsessed by something; he’s become quite taken. The only way he can clear his head is through work - I think you get the picture.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think that means Daigo likes you a lot,” Manon proclaims loudly, even though her eyes are still fixed on Mikuri, who chuckles at Alan’s mortified noise.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he winks.

“That’s nonsense,” Alan mutters, trying to distract himself by caressing Hitokage’s head, “we’ve known each other for weeks. We don’t know each other that well.”

“Mmhmm. That’s alright, because _I_ happen to know Daigo quite well,” Mikuri smirks, “and I can tell you he’s rarely like that.”

What is he supposed to do with this information? Eager to change the topic and to dodge the judgmental glance that Hitokage is giving him, Alan looks around the area, in search of something to distract them. Unfortunately, there’s nothing interesting going on in the crowded shopping street. Nothing, except for the elegant car parked across the road, in front of a restaurant. There’s an imposingly tall man standing there, waiting for the driver to open the door. Alan jumps, recognizing the fiery red hair straight away. But that’s preposterous. He must be seeing things.

The probabilities of his vision being real are just too low.

“Alan, what’s wrong?”

“Fl…” he breathes. “Fleurdelys.”

“What?!” Manon’s head snaps back. "Where?"

He’s in shock. That is Fleurdelys, alright; Alan has seen this figure, with all its authoritarian and sophisticated aura, many, many times over the months, both on the website and in news clippings. But to see it here, in the flesh, and on a remote party island like Milokaloss Island at that, is mindboggling. In an instant, all thoughts of Daigo are gone. He gapes, leaning forward, wanting to say something or do something, but not knowing what. Manon looks ecstatic now, feverish in her agitation, hands shaking:

“Alan, go! Talk to him! Tell him about yourself!”

“What – that’s…”

“He’s going to leave,” she notes, and sure enough, Fleurdelys has already disappeared into his car, “quick, Alan! Quick! That’s your one chance to be noticed!”

“But, I…”

There is nothing he can say. Besides, any action he could possibly take now would look ridiculous and wouldn’t achieve any purpose. Frustrated, Manon leans sideways, grabs her helmet from under her chair and stands up, preparing to chuck the headgear at the vehicle.

“When it hits, go there and pretend you dropped it by accident,” she says, and Alan jumps up to grab her arm:

“Don’t!”

The black car leaves as he takes the helmet out of her hands, making him sigh with relief. Mikuri watches them with a benign smile, one hand on his hip.

“Well, that’s a curious fuss,” he remarks casually.

“Sorry, I…” Alan sighs, “I was just surprised.”

“You should have said something,” Manon grieves, “who knows why he’s here and how long he’s here for? That might have been your only chance to let him know in person how motivated you are.”

“You’re a fan of Fleurdelys’ work, Alan?” Mikuri tilts his head.

“Yes, well, I…I want to work for him,” he feels embarrassed talking about it, so he turns to Manon instead, “I couldn’t possibly have walked up there, though. Think about it, what could I have said? Asked him to please look at my resume?”

“Uh. Yeah,” she shrugs, unwavering.

Alan slouches against the back of his chair, while Hitokage lets out a discouraged sound, closing his eyes. Mikuri, on the other hand, still seems interested.

“You could have asked him why he’s here,” he re-joins, glancing in the direction taken by the car with an amused air, “seeing a famous figure on Milokaloss Island isn’t rare _per se_ , but Fleurdelys does have a reputation, and that reputation doesn’t match with a place like this.”

“You mean… he isn’t a beach person,” Manon stares at him.

“Not exactly, no,” he smiles, “it does make me quite curious. But who knows? The island is so beautiful, that maybe even austere businessmen like Fleurdelys feel compelled to visit it after all.”

Alan only feels a little regretful. It’s true that they don’t know how long the man is going to stay, nor does he have any other opportunity to talk to him in person, even though the apprenticeship is almost everything that he’s been working for in the past few months. He’s put in so much effort into it now, that he can hardly see himself go anywhere else. But there are hundreds of applications every year for Fleurdelys Laboratories. His – no matter how hard he’s worked on it – might not stand out.

He looks up in the direction in which the car has disappeared and clenches his fists. When is he going to get this kind of opportunity again?

*

*

*

Daigo takes three hours out of his Monday to go shopping with Mikuri. It’s a much-needed break from the past two weeks and a half. He’s been working non-stop throughout the days with his team in Kanazumi City and with Ayakōji on the resort’s expansion project, and at night, he doesn’t catch a wink’s sleep because he spends all of them with Alan. Even when the younger man is sleeping next to him, sometimes, naked chest rising slow and deep under the covers, Daigo is working – he’s modelling on his laptop, creating plans, calculating dimensions, scheming. Ayakōji wants a lot, and of course, Daigo’s been asking a lot for it in return, but it’s a difficult war, and through hours and hours of pulling and pushing back over hard liquor and teeing grounds, running on only a couple of naps a day, Daigo has been forced to admit that the redhead is a frighteningly good businessman.

It’s worth it, though. If it means seeing Alan and having Alan with him when he wakes up, tangled in him and his bedsheets, the deprivation of sleep is definitely worth it.   

“Daigo, are you listening to me?”

Daigo looks up, seeing Mikuri before him in the doorframe of a changing cabin, a black sweater in one hand, and a white top with semi-transparent green ribbons flowing down from it in the other. He points at the item of clothing on the left and replies right away:

“The black one is better.”

“I’m surprised you still have enough braincells functioning to make a value judgment,” Mikuri says, “but I’ve already decided on the other one. I was rather asking you where you wanted to have lunch.”

Right. Daigo rubs his face, staring at his reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. His friend puts the black sweater back where he took it and sighs at him.

“You’re really running yourself to the ground, aren’t you?”

“That’s not it,” he refutes, “Ayakōji’s just been more frequently on the offensive, these days. He knows what he wants, and he won’t settle for less. Or different.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“Well…yes, it is,” Daigo puts his hands on the bar of a clothes rack, leaning forward, “in these circumstances, for me, it is.”

“Ah,” Mikuri smiles, taking out a cardigan from the same rack, “looks like maybe I didn’t need to worry so much in advance, then.”

Daigo glances at him, not quite understanding. Truth be told, he is indeed too ragged to process a lot of things right now and the rational part of his brain has been yelling at him to retreat and slow down – that to win a war, one has to strategically use his resources instead of burning all of them in every battle. But the baser part of his nature can’t help it. He’s always been ramming ahead – it’s like that one time in his childhood, when his father allowed him into the fossils section of the office in Kanazumi City, and he’d wanted to take all of them home, and then fell down the stairs and broke his ankle. Or that other time, when he was a teenager and ran away from home to make Metang evolve…Arceus, now he’s getting sleepy.

He takes a deeper breath and looks up to see Mikuri trying the cardigan on. As he twirls in front of the mirror, a shiny pendant glares at him briefly from around his neck. It’s the Sunnygo horn from last time, except this time, there’s also a curious, turquoise stone attached to the string, making Daigo walk towards it and examine it.

“Where did you get these?”

“Oh, so you finally noticed,” Mikuri leers at him, “Milokaloss offered them to me. He found them beneath the ocean.”

“From the cove?”

“No, Daigo. From this side of the island. There’s a tunnel - many tunnels - beneath the water, leading straight from the cove to the beach near the resort, and the local Pokémon can go through them as they wish. Milokaloss hangs out in those tunnels as much as in the cove, and I’ve been asking him how many types of Pokémon live there. There are whole legions of Sunnygo, Pearlulu, Hitodeman, Sakurabyss…”

He pauses, tickled by the shock on Daigo’s face.

“But of course, you know this, don’t you? That’s why you’re worried about the project now. You probably took a boat out and scanned the area underwater, and the scanner told you how many species live under there.”

“Mikuri, did Ayakōji talk to you about the project?” he stares. “Since when have you been waiting to have this conversation with me?”

“Well, I had to investigate, being a water-type expert and all,” his friend sings lightly, taking the cardigan off, “it was my duty. Anyways, the stone is also from the tunnel underneath the island. You’re the stone expert out of us two, but it looks like dawn stone or the like.”

Daigo hits a blank. Knowing fully well that Mikuri has outwitted him many times in the past doesn’t make this any less of a surprise. He scoffs, passing a tired hand over his eyes:

“No wonder you were wearing that pendant so often,” he laughs and his friend mirrors his amusement. “I noticed you were wearing that Sunnygo horn a lot, but to think you were just baiting me...”

“Just testing how dense you are.”

Daigo chortles but can’t help the dim headache starting to gain him. He heaves a sigh while Mikuri asks: “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“Something,” he murmurs, gazing outside the window of the shop, “there’s a reason I’ve been tweaking with the calculations non-stop. As it is, the water-warping system is going to mess up all the submarine pressure on this side of the island and will wreck the Pokémon’s habitat by the same occasion, so I can’t leave it as it is. At some point, I’ll find the right frequency – one that doesn’t affect the Pokémon. Don’t worry.”

“Hmm. And will Ayakōji agree to it?”

“I will make sure he does,” he assures, “I owe this to the locals as well.”

“You mean you owe it to Alan.”

Daigo’s glare only makes the elder man shrug, folding the white top he selected earlier. “Talking about Alan, I met him and Manon the other day. We also saw an unexpected face in town – Fleurdelys.”

He turns, taken aback. Fleurdelys is rather well-known in Kalos. Inventor of the holo-caster, he has a reputation as a benefactor for humans and Pokémon alike, interested in the welfare of endangered species and helping the poor, sponsoring a whole network of charity funds via the proceeds of his tech-led business. Daigo also knows he’s a descendant of Kalosian royalty and has a pronounced interest in the theory of Mega Evolution, dedicating a whole apprenticeship to it which receives up to some thousand-and-five-hundred applicants a year, and charging an application fee of five-hundred-thousand Pokédollars. He’s always found it very paradoxical – that one should cut out the less wealthy’s ability to apply, when all the rest of their work focuses on giving the less wealthy help.

“What is he doing here?”

“I have no more idea than you do. He doesn’t look like the kind of person who’d be interested in surf, does he?”

No, he doesn’t. It’s slightly disconcerting, but Daigo is too weary to analyse it any further today. He does make a mental note to engage the other man if he meets him at the resort though. Maybe Ayakōji will know more about it and why he is here.

“Anyways,” he says, “I’m still meeting Ayakōji later in the afternoon and Alan at nine. But would you like to grab dinner with me? The restaurant near the east side pool is nice.”

Mikuri smiles at him, and it’s benevolent, but also a little bit pitying.

“I think you should rather use those hours to catch some rest,” he replies, squeezing Daigo’s shoulders and making him groan when he hits an acupuncture point, “lunch, though, does sound tempting.”

*

*

*

 

Daigo still thinks about his conversation with Mikuri when he meets Ayakōji later that day. They’ve taken a specially equipped boat to tour the island and take the measurements of the area in which the resort’s expansion will be submerged. Daigo is distracted. The resort owner is pacing around the boat, giving orders to the staff, his sunglasses hanging over his collar and a terribly unfashionable sun visor on his head.

He comes to Daigo and gives him a hearty slap on the back.

“You forgot to put sunscreen, my dude,” he declares, rubbing the back of Daigo’s neck – which does feel a bit sensitive, “this is going to start peeling tomorrow.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have some with you…would you?” he glances at him.

“Damn right, I do,” he reaches into his shorts’ pockets and smacks a travel-sized bottle into Daigo’s palm, “you’re lucky I took it with me.”

Daigo thanks him while two members of the crew trot towards them, the first handing them a clipboard.

“Ayakōji-san,” she explains, “we’re ready to submerge the sensors prepared by Devon whenever you’re ready. As soon as they’re off, we’ll start to follow their trajectory based on the model that Devon prepared, and they’ll be able to record the precise dimensions of the buildings underwater, along with any natural obstacles we’d have to destroy before starting construction work.”

“Excellent, Malika,” the redhead grins, “give your team the green light. Let’s not dwindle here when we could all be enjoying the beach.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as she’s gone, Daigo turns to Ayakōji.

“About the sensors, Ayakōji, I saw just now that you’re using the set I proposed last week. Not the most recent ones.”

The elder man looks at him, still cheerful but very attentive.

“Is that a big problem?”

“Those sensors’ trajectories underwater are programmed based on the previous blueprints I sent you. I’ve changed the calculations for the water-warping system since then, to decrease the power and distortion we’re creating on the surrounding area. The dimensions of the blueprints had to be adjusted accordingly.”

“Ok. Then, how are the buildings affected by the new calculations?”

“They’ll be a little smaller,” he holds the other man’s gaze, but Ayakōji soon closes his eyes and shakes his head, “and we’ll have to change the material of the façades a bit if we want them to withstand the remaining water pressure.”

“Tsuwabuki, we’ve gone through this,” he opens his hands, “the outer façades of the buildings have to be made of glass, it’s the whole point of the thing: for guests to feel like they’re immersed in the ocean, a brand new, never-felt-before kind of experience! Stop changing the calculations – the more you do that, the more useless this entire water-warping system becomes!”

“The warping system is too powerful as of now,” Daigo enunciates clearly, “it’s just too much. The distortions it creates allows the buildings to remain submerged in deep waters for a long time, alright, but the pressure it diverts from the buildings is redirected and puts extra pressure on everything around them – the Pokémon living in the area are not going to be able to withstand it. I’ve told you how many species live down there.”

“Dude,” Ayakōji stares, “they’re not going to _die_. They have fins, they have legs, as soon as they realise we’re building stuff here, they’ll move to other areas of the island to live.”

“That is still considered harm to the ecosystem.”

“Yaaah, well, changing the calculations is _harming_ our future resort guests’ welfare and enjoyment of this thing,” the elder man retorts, waving his hand, “come on, Tsuwabuki. Snap out of it. When my father bought the rights to this whole area, it included everything from the land to the bottom of the sea. Alright? Let’s stick to the original plan.”

Daigo feels something snap shut in his mind and his fingers twitch without him wanting to.

“Ayakōji,” he says, dangerously serene, but the other man has lifted both arms above his head, eyes squeezed shut:

“Naahhh, stop! Stop, stop, stop. If we continue talking about this, you’ll spoil the mood. Come on, I’ll get you something to drink.”

“Ayakōji. Wait. Listen.”

The resort owner ignores him, heading towards the inner part of the boat, where Daigo hears him bump into one of the waiters and exclaim, in a frank, earnest tone: “Heyy, Gary buddy. How’s the new baby at home doing?”

He needs to smoke.

A buzz from his phone causes him to look down to check his message. Alan has sent him something:

_“I’ll be a bit late tonight. Meet you at the room.”_

A second later, he hears Malika and her team order for the sensors to be released. The boat wavers, and along does his resolve.

*

*

*

It’s around ten past when Alan rings at the door. Daigo opens it eagerly, smiling, but is surprised when he notices the somewhat trembling gaze on the younger man’s face, who’s wide-eyed and breathing heavily with his phone in hand.

“What’s wrong?” Daigo enquires.

“I,” Alan starts carefully, looking elated, “I’ve scored an interview for one of my traineeship applications.”

Daigo lights up at once.

“Which one?”

“Professor Platane’s. In Miare.”

A laugh escapes him. Alan smiles tentatively in return, and then they’re both laughing, guffawing as Daigo pulls him into a hug, lifting him up and carrying him into the room, the door slamming behind them. The lifeguard groans and tries to push him away:

“Stop doing embarrassing stuff like-”

“Like what, carrying you around?” he grins, letting the other man down to kiss him, purposefully making it loud and obnoxious, “I’m just happy for you. When is it happening?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

He sits down on the couch beneath one of the windows and Daigo observes him wordlessly for a while with both hands on his hips. He’ll never really get enough of seeing Alan like this, both reclined and comfortable, with hair falling lazily over his eyes and cheeks. It’s almost enough to make him forget his unpleasant interaction with Ayakōji this afternoon.

He sighs before knowing it, and Alan cocks an eyebrow at him.

“It’s nothing,” he reassures, heading towards the fridge to get them a beer.

The icy touch of the beer bottles is a cutting reminder of his own fire, the one that’s been brewing within him and threatening to burst out for the past few days. He brings the beers back to the couch along with a bottle opener, popping one bottle open and dropping the cap onto the nearby coffee table.

“Here you go,” he says, handing it to his companion before opening his own, “congratulations again.”

“I didn’t get the position yet,” the younger man snorts.

“Only a matter of time,” he smirks and takes a swig. He would usually get glasses from the cupboard for them both, but his own taste for protocol has gone down at the same time as his average amount of sleep, and he can barely bother with it now. Not that Alan minds. He still looks comfortable, legs brought up onto the couch and folded, a pensive look on his face.

Daigo shifts towards him, reaching out to play with his hair.

“What’s on your mind now?”

Alan doesn’t reply – only scrutinizes him from beneath soft eyelashes, ones that Daigo always wants to kiss. Exhaling, he brings the younger man’s head down, gently making him lean onto his shoulder. Then he moves his hand down the lifeguard’s arm and enlaces their fingers together.

“Are you sleepy?” he asks.

“Not as much as you, it seems,” Alan remarks with a touch of mockery.

“Just work, as usual. Sleep and work, work and sleep... It's a surprisingly difficult balance to maintain.”

“…Well, depends on the work. But if you don’t want to talk about it I can’t force you.”

“It's not so much that I don't want to talk about it,” he sneers bitterly and takes another sip, “rather, talking about it changes nothing...and I simply struggle to understand sometimes, how someone like Ayakōji can simultaneously be so open-minded and flexible when it comes to people, yet so pig-headed at the same time for other things.”

He feels Alan tense up and tenderly closes his grip on the younger man’s hand, knowing that his filters are going down but not wanting to alarm him either. The younger man angles his head to glance up at him:

“If you want to have some time alone, I can go.”

“Oh. Please no,” Daigo all but whines theatrically, shaking his head before leaning to kiss Alan’s lips again, “don’t go,” he mutters against the other man’s mouth, who grunts something incomprehensible in return, “don’t go…”

“You,” Alan starts, interrupted when he’s kissed again, “seriously,” another peck that makes him wince, “are not yourself today. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, but I am myself,” he susurrates, cuddling him, “I might be a little looser than usual. But I’m still very much in control.”

As he talks, he nestles his nose in the crook of Alan’s neck, nipping absent-mindedly with his lips, while his right hand still holds the younger man’s affectionately. Alan sniffles derisively: “Because it’s all about control, isn’t it?”

“It’s all about self-control,” Daigo rubs his cheek against Alan’s collarbone. But even as he says that, the resort’s expansion project flash before his eyes like a snapshot, and the smile on his face gradually disappears. “It’s about knowing yourself and your weaknesses to such an extent, that harnessing them is second nature, and no one can ever use them against you unless you let them.”

Alan lets out a groan: “You’re so fucking pretentious.”

Daigo pulls back to look at him, reaching into his back pocket as he does. He knows Alan is shocked by the box he pulls out, and the stone shining in it, but that’s what he wants. He wants to give this to Alan, and that’s all there is to it. The lifeguard gives him a completely flabbergasted look.

“A Lizardonite X,” Daigo confirms, one finger tracing his own lips, “It’s yours and Hitokage’s now.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Alan’s expression shuts down.

“I can’t take this. You can’t force me to, either.”

“I can’t,” he agrees, “you’re right. But I do want you to have it. Sincerely, Alan. I just want you to keep it as a small token of appreciation for the very nice weeks we’ve spent together.”

The younger man still seems uncomfortable. _It’s not what we agreed on_ , his expression seems to say, and Daigo knows. But he’s stubborn, and that’s what his heart currently wants.

He tries to lower the glistening Mega Stone into Alan’s hand, but the young man closes his fist and pushes it back. “No…no. I can’t accept this.”

“Alan…” he pouts, deliberately dramatic.

“I don’t know what got into your head,” the other man scowls, “but I’m not accepting this gift, Daigo. Please.”

He can’t deny that it stings a little, but he closes his own fingers around the Mega Stone and puts it back into his pocket with pursed lips: “Fine,” he yields, then changes the subject, “do you know when I saw my first Mega Stone? I was four and I almost swallowed it by accident in my father’s office.”

The younger man looks relieved, but also a little bit consternated at the admission.

“Do I even want to know how that happened?”

“He had a Pigeotnite on his desk. Most beautiful thing I’d seen with my four years old eyes so I took it and lied down on the floor to admire it,” he smiles, fond of the memory, “got a little too excited. The thing fell into my gaping mouth.”

“What the hell.”

“Another time, I fell down the stairs after trying to embark all of my father’s fossils from his office in Kanazumi City. Broke my ankle and had a cast for over three months.”

Alan frowns at him, bemused.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“We were talking about self-control. I wasn’t always good at it,” he slouches a little, “in fact, I was outright terrible. It took me years of conscious efforts to get to where I am.”

“And now, you think you’re invincible.”

He turns towards Alan, who stares back, miffed but waiting.

“But I _am_ invincible,” he leers.

The younger man remains silent, unreadable, and suspiciously still – as if debating whether to show contempt or derision. Then, slowly, he moves towards Daigo, eyes fixed on his lips, one hand sliding up his leg and pausing over Daigo’s crotch that he grabs, boldly coaxing it with his palm. Despite the heat igniting him, Daigo looks up into his eyes, breaths deep, his expression even.

“Is this a challenge?” he cocks an eyebrow.

The other man doesn’t respond, only fondles him more lewdly and persuasively, until the cloud in Daigo’s mind becomes overbearing and the pleasure acute, wheedling a choked sound out of him. He’ll take this as a yes. With a cold grin, he lets Alan come closer – closer – then grabs the younger man’s hand and brusquely jerks it away, ignoring his gasp of surprise and stifling his protest with a self-assured grip between Alan’s legs.

The lifeguard lets out a muffled sound, but Daigo doesn’t spare him the time to recuperate. Already turning their positions around, he straddles the younger man on the couch, swipes the hand that Alan tries to put on his waist, and then reaches for Alan’s zipper, pulling it down in one curt move. The lifeguard tries to buck under him. Daigo holds him down, keeping his mind focused. He concentrates on Alan’s body, nothing else, reaches between the younger man’s legs and pulls him out of his pants with the precision of a technician, keeping his eyes fixed on the way Alan jerks and gasps when he wraps his hand around him. Each detail is imprinted into the back of his mind, the pink of Alan’s mouth, the precise manner in which his eyelashes flutter, the lilt of each moan, the flow of every single strand of hair falling over his brow. As he pumps the younger man faster and faster, still pinning him into the couch and keeping him at his mercy, he can feel his own pulse roar against his ears – feel himself growing hard – feel the sweat rolling down his neck even as the sight of Alan writhing under him keeps him in the act, hyperaware of each and every reaction he extracts.

“Daigo,” Alan calls and he hears his voice so clearly, it’s an almost out-of-body experience in which he dissolves into no more than the sensory parts of himself – and each of those senses is filled with nothing but Alan: Alan’s scent – Alan’s voice – Alan’s arousal – Alan’s pleasure. His movements are exact yet feverish. His entire attention is tuned in to the rising wave of Alan’s high – which he channels into more precision, and the forceful subduing of his own desire.

Alan comes into his palm with a cry, but he doesn’t pull back straight away. With heavy breaths, he lets his mind settle and senses return to him, spends time internalizing them again. He’s shuddering, leaning over Alan on the couch with one arm over the younger man’s head for support while the young man struggles to catch his breath beneath him, flushed and dazed. Daigo’s own arousal is throbbing so badly against his pants that he squeezes his eyes shut, forces himself to regain control, and leaves the couch to go to the bathroom.

Throwing his clothes into a pile on the marble floor, he rushes in a frenzy into the tub and turns the water’s heat to its highest level, drowning lust in fire, and extinguishing fire through sheer force of will. It’s all about self-control. It’s about subduing and supressing your weaknesses until you forget that they exist.

 


	5. Tuesday, wednesday, break my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cure - Friday I'm in Love

 

Alan does feel a bit nervous that morning as he sits down in front of his webcam and laptop, waiting for Professor Platane to come online for the screen call. He’s fidgeting. The clock on his desk indicates seven past eleven, and the Professor should have contacted him at eleven sharp. But he waits nonetheless. Hitokage is snacking on a rice cracker behind him, curled up on the unmade bed; they’ve started their training again recently and the workout has left him with a ravenous appetite. The chatter of his teeth does soothe Alan somewhat.

Suddenly, he’s alerted by the navy pop-up on his screen along with its familiar Pokéball sign, and the tooting of an incoming call. He dives for the pick-up button.

“Hello?”

A lag. The screen loads. At last, Professor Platane appears on screen, a beaming middle-aged man with a stubble and unruly dark curls.

“Ah! Here we are! Thank you Sophie, it’s working now…Hello!”

“Hello…” Alan repeats and falls silent.

Professor Platane is…different. He stares at Alan through the screen, as if physically trying to bypass the tech and study him in real life, bright-eyed, almost a little ditzy. The white lab coat over his shoulders doesn’t match his bright purple shirt and he sits way too close to his webcam.

“Sorry for being late…We had a little bit of a technical problem here at the lab because, because well…I’m not very good with this technology sometimes. I know how to use the holo-caster though!”

Alan smiles, but doesn’t know what to say. Fortunately, the Professor seems outgoing enough for two, and amply willing to kickstart the conversation:

“So, Alan...”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for your application and your interest in Miare Laboratories. We were very happy to read it.”

It’s a funny feeling. With something fuzzy budding within him, he nods and replies genuinely: “Thank _you_ for this interview opportunity.”

“Is that something to thank me for?” the Professor laughs and scratches his head, searching his desk, “I would have thought it’s more of a chore, what with all the questions that I’ve prepared and that I now have to ask you.”

This elicits another genuine smile out of Alan: “That’s alright, Professor. Please go ahead.”

“Ah, I’m always very awkward when it comes to these kinds of procedures… but this is an opportunity for me to know you as much as it is one for you to know me, isn’t it? So please bear with me. Sorry if this is rather dull and standardized,” he clears his throat and speaks, “….So! Alan. Please tell me a little bit about yourself and why you wanted to apply.”

From there on, it’s natural. Professor Platane’s questions do not require more than methodical and thoughtful answering; they talk of things he knows, things he has actually enjoyed learning about – his interests and what the job would be like if he actually made it. Half-way through the interview, the Professor lifts his laptop up and starts strolling around to show him the laboratory, including the Pokémon house. It’s quaint. It’s like butter and jam and forest honey; it has a taste of nostalgia, even though Alan’s never been there.

By the end of the one-hour interview, Professor Platane sits back down before his webcam with a coffee in his hand:

“Very well, Alan! It was a pleasure talking to you. We’ll try to get in touch with you about the results as soon as we can. As you know, if you pass, you will be starting in September. I hope that’s alright for you.”

“Yes, Professor. Thank you.”

“That’s nothing to thank me for,” the Professor laughs cheerfully and lifts his mug, “if you do come to work with me, it’s not like I won’t be giving out a lot of work to do–Ah!”

The last thing that Alan sees before the screen goes black is the Professor’s mug falling and his coffee flying all over the place. He sits there blankly for a few seconds to process it and then lets out a small breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The nagging feeling inside of him hasn’t flown away. Like an old dusty box has been opened, one he didn’t even know was stored in his mind, he stares wordlessly at the screen, attempting to make sense of the feeling of emptiness that’s just dug within him.

He fails.

An email from Professor Platane arrives a couple of minutes later, apologizing for what happened: “ _Dear Alan. I am a klutz, please forgive me. In any case, we will get back to you with a reply within the next two weeks. Many thanks. Take care._ ”

Alan drags his feet to the still munching Hitokage, before sitting down by the bedpost and inviting him into his arms. The Pokémon tilts his head as he comes over, noticing that something’s off, but unable to pinpoint the cause. Alan himself can’t explain it to himself in actual words, but he has a vague idea – and it’s so silly. It’s been so many years since. It shouldn’t affect him like this anymore. Simply, something in the way Professor Platane spoke and acted – that warmth and merriment – had stirred something within him reminiscent of his parents.

“You never met them,” he tells Hitokage quietly, “but they were nice.”

Hitokage peers sadly back at him. He’s sorry. So is Alan – sorry that he was too small back then to protect them, sorry that he was there, waiting in front of the front gates of his elementary school in Miare, while the car hit them miles away. Coming to live to Milokaloss Island under his uncle and aunt’s care after that was simultaneously a blessing and a bane. He was already six at the time and abandoning everything that he knew – his home, his school, his parents’ grave – took all the will to live out of him. Now that he thinks back, he gave his uncle and aunt a hard time, but they never blamed him for it. And then he met Manon.

“You know, they died when mum ran out into the street to save a little girl. And dad came out after her to try and protect her,” he whispers, feeling warmed up by Hitokage’s flame, “the little girl was fine in the end.”

His Pokémon hugs him, emitting a small consoling sound and a smile comes to him. After all, he’s fine, now – like the little girl. He’s received enough love not to feel alone.

*

*

Alan doesn’t know when he’s dozed off exactly, but the sound of the doorbell does make his hair raise. Buzzed wide awake, he sits up and tries to remember where he is, a hand still holding a complaining Hitokage, before he lets the fire lizard hop off and stands up, heading down the narrow staircase.

“Yes?”

He opens the front door of the building to Daigo holding a bottle of red wine, wrapped in nice raspberry-colored paper. The elder man’s impeccable hair, ripped jeans, and immaculate T-shirt make Alan’s breath stop for a second, but his eyes... They look so tired and lifeless that for a moment, Alan struggles to recognize the playful and self-confident man he’s gotten used to. Then, the elder man meets his gaze and his face clears up – the geniality returns – he comes to life.

“Alan, sorry I come uninvited. I just wanted to ask if the interview went ok.”

“…It went alright, thanks,” he replies.

“Well, I’m glad.”

 _You should probably go to bed_ , Alan wants to add. But of course, the elder man’s holding that bottle of wine in his hand, so he probably expects to be invited in, doesn’t he?

Sneaky, sneaky bastard.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” he says with a cocked eyebrow, because he’s certain that Daigo knows that he’s not impressed – and for sure, the elder man has a bit of an amused glint in his eyes, like he’s aware that he’s being cheeky, but is glad that Alan is playing along.

“I would love to if you don’t mind.”

He should probably warn him that his house is a shithole. This is a far cry from Daigo’s hotel and he highly doubts that the Devon heir often hangs out in places like this.

“Please don’t expect much,” he advises as he lets the elder man walk up the stairs before him, “it’s tiny and there’s no living room. My bedroom’s a mess. The kitchen is unseemly at the moment so don’t open it.”

“I really don’t mind,” Daigo assures. And he does look fairly unaffected by the general untidiness around him, doesn’t even flinch at the slight hint of mold in one corner of the ceiling. Instead, he goes straight to the bedroom, where Hitokage perks up as soon as he walks in. While the elder man kneels to greet him, Alan makes a detour to get glasses and a cork opener:

“Thanks for the wine.”

“That’s nothing at all,” he sees Daigo put something down on his table, before looking up at some of the flyers stuck on Alan’s blue walls. “So, I finally get to see your place.”

“Yes, as you can see, it's a very small flat.”

“But it's yours,” the elder man shrugs, “as I understand, you used to live with your uncle and aunt?"

“Yes. They still live down the street.”

He pauses, before adding:

“They’re great. But it made more sense to have my own place after I reached 18, I…didn’t want to burden them any more than I already did.”

“So it’s been two years, then?” Daigo hums softly, “two years since you got Hitokage, too.”

Alan looks at him, watches him quietly as he scratches Hitokage’s head, who huffs back at him. Then the elder man stops in front of Alan’s bed, and without any warning or prompting, drops comfortably into it with a loud groan of happiness. Sure, he’s taken his shoes off already, but… the nerve.

“I used to have a ceiling window just like this, when I was younger,” Daigo says with a yawn, stretching and turning, “Used to look at the stars at night, for hours and hours on end.”

“All those rocks floating in outer space,” Alan laments with what he hopes is resounding sarcasm, “not getting to touch them kept you up, I suppose.”

“Ah…Touché. Touché.”

He snorts loudly, tickling Hitokage’s chin too.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Won’t you come and lie down with me?” the other man suddenly invites with an impish smile.

How positively mind-boggling and preposterous is it to be invited into his _own_ bed? Only someone like Daigo can pull such a ludicrous move and still get away with it. He rolls his eyes and lies down anyways on his back, staring at the blue sky through the window.

It doesn’t even take two seconds for Daigo to come curling up against him, but for once, without ulterior motives. He simply lays his head against Alan’s shoulder, nose in the crook of his neck, breathing tranquilly while closing both hands around one of Alan’s. In return, the lifeguard rolls onto one side to face him and Hitokage soon climbs onto the pillow, visibly miffed about their intimacy, but choosing to find himself a spot just next to them to fall asleep. He does deliberately step on Daigo's hair, though, which makes the elder man hiss in pain and Alan laugh at his misery. 

“You look really exhausted, you know that, don’t you?” he declares after a while, when Hitokage has curled into a ball and chosen to ignore them.

“It’s Ayakōji. He’s giving me a very hard time,” the other man murmurs, still rubbing his head, “but we’ll get there, I promise.”

“In less than two weeks?”

There’s a lingering silence, after which, Daigo slowly brings Alan’s hand up to his lips, planting a delicate kiss on the knuckles. Alan shifts his head so their foreheads are touching.

“Are you flying back to Hoenn after this?”

“Of course. I’ll come back soon to check on constructions’ progress,” the elder man’s eyelids are closed, and his voice is so low their proximity is the only reason Alan hears him, “I understand you might be gone when I do come back.”

“…Yes.”

“So quick. It’s a shame…”

They fall silent after this, and partly because Alan has to stop and think. It hasn’t truly hit him until now. Despite talking with Manon about it, despite knowing it as a fact all along, it hasn’t really sunk in that he might – probably will – never see Daigo again. And maybe that’s fine the way it is. But a bit of regret does cling onto him too. Without realizing it, he puts a hand on the elder man’s cheek before giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead. Daigo smiles but doesn’t open his eyes. Minutes later, his breathing falls into a slow, rolling rhythm, and he dozes off.

It’s already two when they wake up again and Daigo has to go back to the resort straight away for work. He leaves without eating lunch or drinking the wine. It’s only once he’s gone that Alan notices the small black box left on the edge of his table with, inside it, the cerulean Lizardonite.

*

*

*

“I told you not to give it to me, why did you leave it there?”

Alan tries not to sound too annoyed, because he’s on the bus and on the phone. But he’s failing miserably.

“I really wanted you to have it, after all,” Daigo sighs on the other end, “it’s one of my favorite Mega Stones.”

“Then, all the more reasons _not_ to give it to me,” he hisses.

But the other man tuts before chuckling.

“Alan…I am leaving Milokaloss Island next Sunday.”

A weight drops in Alan’s stomach, foreign and terribly unsettling, but he remains silent as the elder man continues calmly: “Who knows when we will meet each other again after this? Is it really so bad that I would like you to have a souvenir to remember me by? Besides, Hitokage will evolve and the Lizardonite X would really come in handy then.”

He doesn’t know what to respond to that. His guts are still tied up and he hears Daigo exhale against his ear:

“…Alan?”

He gnaws on his lower lip.

“Alan, please? Keep it for me…”

“Fine,” he states, feeling a little grey, “I will.”

“Thank you, Alan,” the elder man seems relieved and delighted.

He grits his teeth:

“Why are you the one saying thanks? I am the one receiving the gift, I should thank you.”

“Considering that I’m forcing your hand a little here, you don’t owe me any thanks at all,” the other man assures, sounding like he’s in a much better mood, “by the way... this and that are completely unrelated – but Ayakōji is hosting a party over here at the resort, on Saturday. I was simply wondering, would you do me the honor of coming as my plus one?”

Alan can feel his cheeks heat up again, annoyingly so, and he stumbles on his words:

“What about Mikuri-san?”

Daigo huffs in laughter: “Don’t you worry about Mikuri. He’s invited on his own account. But whether I could have you beside me on that night has been running in my mind for the past two days and a half-”

“…What kind of party is it?”

“A gala.”

Great.

“I don’t have anything in my wardrobe that can make the cut, I’m afraid.”

“I can arrange that for you. Would a classic black tuxedo be fine? Or would you like something a little more colorful?”

“Daigo, fucking hell. You can’t-”

“Please,” he hears the other man beg, “ _please, just for me_ …”

Alan rolls his eyes.

“Black is fine.”

“Marvelous. Saturday can’t come soon enough.”

Alan hangs up with a grumble, trying his best to focus again on the landscape outside, because Arceus... He thought he was used to this, yet Daigo still has a knack for completely nonsensical quirks that leave him helpless.

A text comes from the Devon heir a few seconds later:

_“7pm at mine on Saturday? I will have the tuxedo delivered to the resort before then.”_

Alan replies disgruntledly: _“I’m doing this as a favor to you.”_

The bus makes a stop on its way to the Milokaloss Cove, when the elder man responds. The text only contains an emoticon, the one that blushes softly while beaming with happiness. Then, another message follows:

_“Could you please send me your measurements?”_

Alan thinks Daigo is insane.

 

Saturday evening thus begins with Alan knocking on the Devon heir’s door, only to have the elder man open it with a terribly serious face, and, before he can even try to ask what’s wrong, be pulled into his embrace, kissed fiercely and cornered against the wall as the elder man proceeds to sink to his knees and go down on him.

That is definitely not how Alan intended to start the evening, but...ok. He recovers full use of his senses minutes later while sitting against cold marble, his pants hanging around his ankles and the other man kind of sprawled over his lap, one arm between his parted legs. Daigo’s breaths are slow but heavy, his eyes closed as if asleep. But there’s something distinctively tense about him, like a storm cloud about to break, or an elastic band about to snap. Still catching his breaths, Alan glances down at him and whispers:

“Not that it was bad, but…what was that for?”

Daigo doesn’t reply right away. When he does, his voice is kind of broken and he doesn’t sound like himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Sorry for what?”

Again, the elder man falls silent, but he struggles to sit up, looking into Alan’s eyes and – oh, the fatigue– oh, the discouragement on his features. Alan frowns at him and Daigo sighs, diverting his gaze as he exhales:

“I missed you…”

It’s even weirder now. Slightly rattled, Alan pulls one leg up and tries to cover himself.

“Did something happen?”

“…Can’t I just miss you?” Daigo smiles sadly, a strange lilt in his voice making it obvious that he’s not even asking for real. He’s not answering the question either, which is worrying.

“Daigo…”

“The tuxedo arrived just fine,” he sighs, standing up and extending a hand for Alan to take. Then, he heads for the tissues on his night desk, wiping some leftover stains off his cheek. Suddenly more positive, he turns and adds: “Thank you for coming, Alan. Going to this event without you would have been a chore.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“I’m just tired,” the other man shakes his head and shrugs, “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

Alan is certain that something more is lurking beneath the surface. But Daigo soon hands him a set of garment bags and plants a soft kiss on his cheek: “I’ll let you change in peace. Let me know if you want help with the cufflinks.”

*

*

*

Arriving into the gala room makes him want to puke. There’s nothing wrong with the room as such. It’s a ballroom spanning two floors, with an interior balcony that runs along each of the tall walls, bathed in lilac and rubicund lights, and with dressed round tables everywhere. It’s the crowd that gets to him, the sea of cocktail dresses and fancy suits holding champagne and wine glasses, the fake laughter, the thorough lack of genuine joy in spite of all the buzz around them.

He holds Daigo’s elbow and stops.

“I hate this already,” he announces to the elder man, who listens to him attentively. “My bad, but I really don’t think I want to do this after all.”

“I understand,” Daigo lids his eyes and faces him while lowering his voice, “but do you want to give the terrace a chance? There’s music there and the atmosphere will be much more light-hearted.”

He purses his lips. “Alright.” He follows as they cut through the mob with Daigo nodding his greetings left and right. Alan hates every curious stare they get, but they do make it to the terrace alright and Daigo wasn’t lying. The music is jazzy and upbeat out there, by the pool. Guests there have already had a few glasses too many to drink and have abandoned fake mirth for real laughter, brasher and more hysterical – more savage. People have their arms locked around each other, swaying and swinging along the swanky tune of the saxophone.

Alan combs through the faces around them to look for Mikuri, but the model is nowhere to be seen. He cranes his neck while Daigo passes a hand around his waist.

“Where is Mikuri-san?”

“I don’t know,” he alleges, “maybe inside.”

“What about Ayakōji-san, don’t you have to give him a heads-up that you’ve arrived?”

Daigo smiles at him, then fakes a pout:

“What about our time together? Every minute counts.”

Alan frowns – not because it’s untrue, but because even for someone as flirty as Daigo, it’s out of character to say such a thing. He doesn’t like this at all.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” the other man insists, before looking around for the band, “I want to ask them if they could play something slower for us. Please wait for me.”

Alan lets him go. The moment he does though, a base feeling kicks into him, like this is the last time he sees the elder man as he does now. Like a thread has been severed somewhere, and when the song changes to a languid, romantic melody, bringing Daigo back, they are already standing on different grounds, and the elder man’s defining features have changed.

“Shall we dance?” Daigo proposes, holding out a hand.

He accepts, but the feeling remains.

Daigo dances unhurriedly. He holds Alan close like he’s trying to keep himself warm, and in the heat of summer, this invites nothing but sweat. Yet, even then, Alan shivers. Daigo’s graceful, like a gentle branch wavering in the spring breeze, but there’s a shadow pressed between them now. He feels like they’re each holding onto a ghost.

A woman yelps as a whistle is heard and sparks abruptly explode in the air, painting flowers on the pitch-black sky. The general uproar separates them, as Daigo holds onto his waist at arm-length to look up at the ongoing fireworks. They then exchange a glance, and the elder man smirks.

It’s Alan who initiates the kiss this time, but Daigo receives him with dignified readiness. Somehow, it feels like the last time.

*

*

*

Daigo leans against a corner of the ballroom, coughing into his fist as the room begins to blur before him – a pleasant result of the numerous wine glasses they’ve downed over the past two hours. His mind, however, still relays his thoughts relatively clearly, and he knows Alan has strayed off to get them both some champagne. He also knows that the wine hasn’t helped to shake his memories of this afternoon away – those still haunt him even now.

He’s glad they haven’t bumped into Ayakōji yet.

The resort owner’s feline face is still glaring at him when he closes his eyes, with his sunglasses in hand, that characteristically defiant air about him. He’d almost thrown the blueprints into the wind, spiteful and filled with disdain. Daigo had never seen him like that before – had not even imagined that he was capable of losing his cool. They’d gone head-to-head, how else could it have gone down?

_I have enough of your blah-blah and blah about the calculations and the warping system, Tsuwabuki. How many times are you still going to bring this up? Am I going to receive emails from you when you’re in Hoenn about how the buildings are going to get smaller and smaller until we’re only building a one-room hotel?_

Well, how many times until you see that this arrangement is better for you as well? This is not only about the Milokaloss and other Pokémon living down there.

_Cut the crap. You really don’t realize you’re walking on thin ice, Tsuwabuki._

You’re the one who needs the warping system last time I checked.

_And you think Devon’s the only company who can provide me with this?_

Daigo rubs both hands over his face, trying to shake the recollections off – to numb the rage directed at himself each time he recalls just how much of an amateur he is. But Ayakōji is still scoffing at him, pointing at him with the blueprints in hand:

_I already have Fleurdelys Laboratories as a back-up to take over from Devon. It was just in case you kept holding this project back, but honestly, I think you’ve made up my mind._

Ayakōji had then cooled down, suddenly icy and impersonal, letting out a discouraged sigh.

“I honestly like you a lot, Tsuwabuki – but I know what I want and we’re not coming to an agreement, so maybe I should just stop trying to convince you.”

Daigo snorts and peels himself off the wall.

Alan is taking a long time. He wonders why and scans the place to look for the beach lifeguard, but somehow doesn’t see him anywhere. Maybe he’s still outside.

He is. Daigo steps onto the terrace once more and notices Alan straight away – he’s almost trained himself to do so – but the young man is not alone. He’s talking to a tall silhouette by one of the bars, an unfamiliar kind of enthusiasm in his eyes. At the sight, a chill runs down Daigo’s spine. The silhouette next to Alan belongs to none other than Fleurdelys, who responds calmly, but with interest.

Seized by a wave of unjustified anger, he feels his throat clog up, his brain registering all the wrong details at once – like the fact that he’s rarely see Alan look this animated before. That Alan is nervous, but with the positive kind of nerves, like he’s talking about a subject that matters deeply to him.

As he approaches, Fleurdelys notices him and lifts his glass towards him:

“Tsuwabuki Daigo. A pleasant surprise.”

Alan blinks at him, taken aback by his presence: “Daigo-”

“You know each other?” he inquires with a smile.

“No, but this young man here has come up to me to discuss my work – it seems he has a strong interest in the Fleurdelys Laboratories and has signed up to my apprenticeship.” Daigo will never get used to just how gigantic the Kalosian executive is, nor how cavernous his voice sounds, but right now, he despises both aspects unreservedly. “I haven’t seen his cover letter yet, but he seems motivated.”

“How interesting. I didn’t know you had an interest in Fleurdelys’ research,” Daigo turns to Alan and the younger man looks self-conscious, but shrugs anyways.

“No one asked.”

“If you know the heir of Devon,” Fleurdelys looks on with approval, “then, you’re well-connected. What do your parents do, Alan?”

At this, the younger man’s face loses some of its colors, faltering slightly as he looks down at the floor:

“That’s not it. I’m on my own.”

Daigo inhales. He side-eyes Fleurdelys, feeling the anger stir again when he sees the Kalosian’s features twitch ever so slightly with a hint of dissatisfaction.

“Oh. Sorry for asking.” He doesn’t look all that sorry, though. “I meant to tell Tsuwabuki-san…I’ve heard nothing but praise about your company, and your recent progress about that new energy source of yours is phenomenal. We have a lot in common, don’t we? Devon and Fleurdelys Labs.”

“How so?”

“Both concerned about the future, both helping humans and Pokémon…”

“Oh. With all due respect, it looks like, unlike Devon, you would have no qualms constructing the underwater aberration that Ayakōji wants,” Daigo drops emotionlessly, “To me, it looks like we belong to two different species.”

Fleurdelys studies him with care, while Alan narrows his eyes:

“What system is that?”

“It was just a back-up plan,” Fleurdelys suddenly replies nonchalantly, then smirks, “besides, wasn’t it Devon who originally designed the water-warping system allowing us to submerge the resort extension underwater? If we do it, we would base it off Devon’s original ideas – with our own patented technology of course.”

“Is that what Ayakōji-san wants?” Alan begins to see the bigger picture and doesn’t seem like he’s appreciating it much. “What about the Pokémon living underwater? We have loads of tunnels and caves beneath this island. Dozens and dozens of species live there.”

“We’ve been advising him on that for the past few weeks, but he and his team don’t seem to mind, even though his team is composed of locals,” Daigo purses his lips.

“There’s little to worry about,” Fleurdelys says with composure, “none of those Pokémon are going to die. They will peacefully move to live elsewhere.”

“You’re forcing them to migrate without leaving them the choice,” Alan stammers right away.

Fleurdelys looks utterly unimpressed by the interruption.

“It always baffles me how some people simply fail to see further than their own nose. The world has always had to divide resources according to the greater need.”

“So?”

“The wild Pokémon here have ample space to live. There are other small islands floating in the vicinity, other coves, other reefs... By contrast, if we are to build anything for this island, it has to be here.”

“We don’t _need_ to build anything,” Daigo scoffs.

“Of course, we don’t,” Fleurdelys swirls his wine and smiles, “but Ayakōji-san does. They are running out of space to accommodate all the guests who want to come to this resort. It is my duty as an advocator for change and global welfare to help those in need.”

He shrugs.

“I wouldn’t even have needed to step in if Devon had not proved itself incapable of fulfilling their part of the contract.”

It takes an effort for Daigo not to lose his calm. He keeps his hands behind his back, smiling curtly while Fleurdelys nods, signaling that he’s about to take his leave.

“Have a nice evening,” he says before disappearing in the crowd.

The air between them feels cold; words don’t come easy. Alan seems to struggle to find what he wants to say but can’t hide the searing disappointment on his face.

“Alan…” he reaches out only to be rejected with an impatient push of the hand.

Hurt, he steps back and lets the younger man take a deep breath, looking sourly at him.

“The blueprints on your table, Daigo… _That’s_ what they were for and never once did you bother to tell me about it. I didn’t want to ask you directly because I assumed they were business secrets, but-”

“That’s right,” he interjects, “they _were_ business secrets.”

Alan seethes.

“Then you blatantly lied,” he says.

“No, I…”

“I don’t draw that distinction,” Alan interrupts this time, both hurt and angry, “I know what you want to say. You want to say that you technically didn’t lie – you just omitted to tell. I know. You’re technically right. I’m not a fucking idiot. I know I’m the one who’s wrong for not probing further on my own – but you also explicitly said that you'd do what you could to make sure no harm comes to this island because of you.”

“You don't know what I did, Alan. Don't jump to conclusions.”

“If you’d told me exactly what you were struggling against, we could have thought together of ways to not make this happen.”

“And what help would that have been?” Daigo shakes his head and raises his voice even as he loathes himself for it, “besides, it was never a relationship like that between us. What we had was just physical. When did _you_ trust me? You never bothered to tell me about your application to Fleurdelys’ either.”

“You–” Alan recoils, flabbergasted.

“It would have been utterly stupid of me to trust you with any of it. All the more so, when you'd want to work for someone like him.”

Disappointment doesn’t even begin to describe it; the younger man looks disillusioned, like Daigo’s just dumped ice cold water over him. And Daigo wants to take it back, but it’s like a beast has taken over him, coiled around his limbs and forcing him to lash out, cruel and with the intent to hurt.

Alan shakes his head, glaring:

“Fine. If that’s how you’d like to have it.”

He swerves on his heels and leaves the terrace without another word, leaving Daigo alone with his self-loathing, sober and shuddering.


	6. Here [we] go again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the song suitable for this chapter is ABBA - Mamma Mia

The next few days are composed of remorse and wallowing in a sense of defeat. Alan takes two days off from work on account of exhaustion and refuses Ayaka’s offer to visit him with medication. He helps Manon with her summer homework instead and dodges her questions about Daigo because he doesn’t want to talk about it – doesn’t want to think about it, even. Each time the Devon heir is brought up in conversation, he clams up or changes the subject. 

He regrets the things they’ve said. It’s not like he doesn’t know that Daigo has been working his ass off for weeks on end without a proper night's sleep – and it's not like he could have truly expected Daigo to disclose his business deal to him - how could he? As the elder man said, their relationship never required such a thing, and perhaps the elder man hadn’t lied about trying to advise Ayakōji against his scheme either. Alan simply felt stupid on that night. Incredibly stupid and naïve, for not seeing what was actually happening despite spending all this bloody time in Daigo’s company. And mostly, stupid for having worked so hard on the Fleurdelys application, selling off his whole summer and past savings for a potential future that he doesn’t even want now. Remembering Fleurdelys’ disdain as he mentioned ‘those people who can’t see further than their own nose’ alone makes him nauseous. He’d thought that meeting Fleurdelys face to face would be inspiring. Joke’s on him, now.

All of this dejection had made him blame Daigo unreservedly and perhaps unfairly. He repents it now, but it hardly matters, he supposes. The elder man is leaving the island in only a few days.

 

“Alan, where are you going?” Manon calls out to him from the porch of her house.

He glances back at her with his backpack across his shoulder. The sun is particularly blinding today, making her squint as she shades her eyes.

“Just going to the Milokaloss Cove,” he replies. “I need to think a bit.”

“You want to be alone?”

“Yes.” 

“You,”  she pauses and stares, biting her lips, “You'll say so if you need something, right?” 

“Yes,” he replies, feeling almost guilty for it, “but I'm fine. Thanks.” 

A look into her eyes tells him that she doesn't believe a word of it - but he really doesn't want to dwell on this now. 

“I’ll see you later,” he waves and heads off. 

The trip to the cove does allow him to reorder his thoughts. It's a slice of the familiar that reserves no surprises for him - neither good nor nasty ones - something he can deal with without having to consciously think about it. On the way, he lets the sunlight infuse life into him and concentrates on letting the wind blow away some of the gray ashes clinging to his soul. But the prickly sensation persists in his chest. He ignores it, forcefully pushes it into the background, hoping that it dies. But each time, he finds himself missing the feeling of two warm hands on his neck and lips hovering over his, as well as Daigo’s gentle chuckles echoing his own voice. 

He makes it to the path down the cliff when an email notification makes him look down at his phone.

It’s Professor Platane.

_“Alan,_

_I greatly enjoyed our talk last week and I’ve made my choice. Miare Laboratories would be delighted to offer you a place within our little family as of September – but only if you would like to join the team._

_Would you join the team? Please let me know by the end of the week._

_Best regards,_

_Professor Platane.”_

Alan can’t help the reassuring warmth from skidding into him again. He wants to reply right away, but an incongruous wail freezes him on the spot. It comes from the cove and sounds like a Pokémon wailing for help but he can't ascertain its cause from where he is standing. Immediately on his guard, he runs to the bottom of the cliffside and brakes, horrified to see Fleurdelys and a scientist standing past the ‘Forbidden Access’ sign, right in the middle of the cove.

The Milokaloss are in an uproar, swimming fretfully and apprehensively away from the area. Meanwhile, the scientist raises her head from an engine she’s been fiddling with and cocks an eyebrow at Alan, who is livid.

“Fleurdelys!”

The Kalosian executive doesn’t even turn around, only spares his subordinate a disdainful glance:

“Mable, don’t stop the data readings.”

“Alright, Director.”

“You’re not allowed in here,” Alan walks up to them, “access to this cove is restricted to the island locals. You have to leave.”

Then he notices the thick pipes from Mable’s machine plunging into the water and falters:

“What is that thing doing to the waters?”

“Nothing, relax,” Mable snorts mockingly, “we’re just doing readings for the large reserves of evolutionary stones below the island.”

“What?”

“Mable,” Fleurdelys warns, finally turning towards him, “I don’t see why you would want to explain yourself to anyone you meet,” he smiles pacifyingly, “now, Alan, right? I’m sorry if we’re involuntarily trespassing, but we’ll be done in less than twenty minutes, so…”

“So nothing,” he stammers, hand closing on Hitokage’s Pokéball, “the Milokaloss are scared and you’re not even sorry. Please leave this cove immediately.”

Fleurdelys remains silent. Then a sigh escapes him.

“You really are a stubborn one. Mable, keep going.”

“Fleurdelys-”

“Alan, let me explain. It is our duty to investigate the reserves of evolutionary stones located in the tunnels beneath the cove,” Fleurdelys calmly opens both palms in a way that seems beseeching, “in their raw, unmanufactured state, those stones are completely useless. But if we mine them and bring them back to my laboratories, we can give them a purpose, turn them into energy for the greater good. Isn’t this why you want to work for me?”

“Not in this way,” he releases Hitokage and points at Mable’s device, “Hitokage, use fire fang on that thing!”

Hitokage charges for the machine, only to be blasted away by a much more powerful throng of fire coming from Fleurdelys' direction. Alan chokes. He rushes forward to his partner, noticing the male Kaenjishi skulking near Fleurdelys’ legs now, still fuming at the corners of his mouth. Hitokage forces himself to stand up, truly incensed, batting away Alan’s worried hands.

“I would advise you against this,” Fleurdelys announces icily, “I could sue you for damaging expensive hardware and no one would benefit from it.”

Alan’s still debating it in his mind. A ghost from the past has returned to him at the sight of Hitokage getting thrown to the ground... He can see the Iwark and its trainer again – the helplessness in Hitokage’s cries – his own powerlessness and horror – and it’s making his guts churn. He was obsessed with becoming strong and independent back then, just to prove to someone - anyone - that he could live on his own and protect those he wanted just fine. But all of that had backfired and only shown his limitations. This time, it’s different because he has tangible things other than his own pride at stake. Backing down now doesn't mean being reasonable. It would only be cowardly. 

A quick look into Hitokage’s eyes shows him they are on the wavelength.

“We have to do this anyways,” he responds to Fleurdelys’ displeasure.

The Kalosian executive nods at his Pokémon, who roars through his gaping mouth. Before the flamethrower can hit them however, the Kaenjishi is driven into the side of the cliff by an overpowering jet of water. A Milokaloss has emerged from the shallow waters, holding its head up near the shore. Alan doesn’t know if he’s ever seen it before. It looks calm, unruffled by the idea of confrontation. Then it glances up behind Alan’s back, and that’s when he notices Mikuri standing there, with his arms folded, a white brimmed hat casting dark shadows over his smiling face.

“Milokaloss, take out that engine with waterfall, please,” he says.

The Pokémon indulges willingly, making Mable spill out a whole string of profanities and reach into her blazer for her own Pokéball. A Manyura jumps out, which Hitokage charges at without hesitation. He tackles it violently to the ground, bites, gets scratched in return. The Manyura snatches him by the neck and flings it into a pile of rocks, only to get hit by the Milokaloss’ hydro pump and toppled into the waters.

Mable hurriedly lets it return to her Pokéball. Fleurdelys looks visibly irritated.

“And what could _you_ want?”

“World peace like everybody else?” Mikuri leers mockingly, “but most importantly, I would like my beautiful Milokaloss to be left alone without being scared off by brutes.”

“Mikuri-san...”

“I'm not a local,” the model states serenely, “but I don't mind holding you up here while Alan goes to alert the authorities about your presence here. What do you say, Fleurdelys?”

“Short-sightedness everywhere,” the Kalosian snaps his fingers.

Kaenjishi instantly burns the remnants of Mable’s machine to ashes. He then trots off and follows his trainer as they head out of the cove, “Mable. Gather your things. We’re leaving.”

Alan doesn’t wait for them to disappear before he rushes to where Hitokage is. The fire lizard emerges from the rocks as he arrives, alright but whimpering slightly, looking irked by the small cuts on his arms. He jumps into Alan’s embrace, burying his face into his chest and making sigh with relief.

“You did well,” Alan tells him with a reassured smile, still shaken as he checks his flame, “I’m glad you’re okay. Let’s go to the Pokémon Centre.”

He then turns towards Mikuri, who’s still a stone throw away and is now heading out of the restricted area. Holding Hitokage in his arms, he runs up to the elder man.

“Thank you for the help, Mikuri-san,” he stammers, making the model look back. “I’m not sure how it would have gone down without you.”

“That’s nothing,” he beams gently, before rubbing his neck, “Well, I’m sorry to have broken the island’s rules but happy to see you and Hitokage are alright."

“How come you were here?”

“Ah, I'm leaving the island soon, so was passing by to pick Milokaloss up at the nearest accessible beach, when I heard some commotion at the cove. A lucky encounter, I suppose.”

He gazes past Alan’s shoulder at where Fleurdelys’ scanner used to be.

“He destroyed the evidence,” the model scorns, “but I suppose _that’s_ why he was interested in Ayakōji’s project at all.”

“The evolutionary stones?”

“Milokaloss has been picking lots of shards while swimming from one side of the island to another. Large reserves of them have formed naturally beneath the island and mining them could bring Fleurdelys huge profits of some kind, while working on Ayakōji’s project would give him easy access to it. Daigo picked up the same signals from the evolutionary stones while doing groundwork for the hotel, and he reached the same conclusion regarding Fleurdelys.”

At the mention of Daigo, Alan’s face must have lost some color, because the elder man smiles again.

“You haven’t talked to him recently, have you?”

“I…”

“He’s leaving Friday instead of Sunday, most probably due to heartache, although he denies it,” Mikuri declares without paying heed to the twitch at the corner of Alan’s mouth, “he’s still trying to do something about Fleurdelys before leaving though, meaning he might still have some timeslots free.”

“I don’t think I’ll see him again,” Alan admits.

The elder man pauses, but he doesn’t elaborate. There’s a lot he could say or nothing at all. Either way, it wouldn’t change the final result. Daigo and he are going separate ways in any scenario that he can think of; they’ve had their time, they’ve said what they had to say to each other. Adding anything else to their relationship now wouldn’t be of real value to either of them.

“Well, you do what you do,” Mikuri hums, scratching Hitokage’s chin, “as Daigo’s best friend, I don’t want him to lose you so carelessly, especially when he’s grown to like you so much, but again, we don’t decide the laws of the world. All we can do is follow our hearts … oh?”

Alan looks down, astonished to see Hitokage begin to glow in his arms, brighter and brighter as his limbs grow and begin to change shape. Before he knows it, he’s holding a Rizado instead, who’s growling proudly against him, lifting his lanky arms in triumph. A warm smile comes to Alan as he lets him hop off.

“Would you look at that,” Mikuri whistles and looks genuinely happy for him, “congratulations, Alan.”

He laughs in return and lets Rizado show off his new abilities, running energetically around the area. There are many things he's still uncertain about and he doesn't have a lot of time to figure them out. But it’s like they’ve both overcome one hurdle among the lot and he feels slightly readier to turn the page.

 

*

*

*

Daigo is surprised that Ayakōji’s accepted to meet him after the way they argued a week ago. The resort owner doesn’t even seem mad or inconvenienced when they do see each other. He welcomes him into his suite, turns off the TV and opens a bottle of Dom Pérignon for them both, red hair tied into a ridiculously small ponytail above his head. That and his oversized T-shirt make him look like a child. Daigo almost feels overdressed and he hasn’t even tucked his shirt into his pants.

The past few days have been a disaster for him. He’s not slept a wink and his fiasco with the resort expansion is not even the biggest reason for it.

“Have a seat,” Ayakōji designates two armchairs in his living room with a table in between and drops limply in one of them.

He then takes a slow breath, tapping distractedly on the champagne bottle with his nail, before huffing softly:

“I’ll tell you what, Tsuwabuki, I’m actually glad that you wanted us to sit down and talk about the resort again. I’m really glad.”

Daigo puts a hand under his chin, waiting.

“How so?”

“Well, I’ve had second thoughts. I’ve talked to your friend again these two days, you know, with Mikuri. He’s told me things that made me question myself a bit. You can almost talk of self-discovery, in a sense…anyways, you’re sure he’s a model and not a psychologist?”

“Um, I can see how he’s kind of both,” Daigo frowns, “but…he talked to you about your expansion plans, in particular?”

“He’s talked to me about many, _many_ things,” Ayakōji looks vaguely preoccupied by the memories as he plays with his glass, “but the central point I’ve realized is that…I’m kind of not taking the right approach with regard to pleasing people. Take my team, for example. They’re all on board with my plans because they trust me, because I make them want to work for me, and they’re happy to do it now. But I wonder if, in the long run, I’m not going to get the backlash of that, if people suddenly start to regret the changes I did to the ecosystem… I wonder if that’s going to be my legacy, you know? The guy who took his father’s work too far and made the island less beautiful than it originally was.”

“You’re already thinking about legacy?” Daigo smirks, “you’re twenty-seven.”

“I know, I know, but it’s never too early to think about that kind of things,” the elder man snorts, suddenly serious, “Fleurdelys can do the warping system just like you do, Tsuwabuki. But maybe we should shake things up a bit, take things back to the start, warping system be damned…and you’re better at this kind of innovative brainstorming stuff than he is. My only bottom line is that we take a people-oriented approach.”

Daigo smiles without mockery.

“I am very much in favor of ‘shaking things up’, as you say, Ayakōji. Thank you for suggesting that before I could do it... I never realized until now that you’re very much a sap, though.”

“Yaaah, it’s part of my nature, but I don’t show it often,” Ayakōji sneers before lifting his glass of champagne. “Doesn’t work so well in the world of numbers.”

They smirk, absent-mindedly making a toast to nothing in particular and downing their respective glasses.

*

*

*

Daigo doesn’t push his flight back again, despite their renewed deal. He’s agreed with Ayakōji that he would return to Milokaloss Island in a couple of weeks – just enough time to come up with a brand-new proposal, one they’ve both discussed and already have in mind. Seeing Hoenn again will also help him to clear his mind a little, help him forget the treacherously fragile fissure within his own chest, through which the seaside wind has been perfidiously blowing for the past week.

He does want to see Alan again but knows with certitude that the younger man is done with him. Whether or not he can explain the misunderstandings lingering between them now would be like crying to a wall. It’s a lament in the face of a concrete end. A vulnerable show of sentimentality that will be met with indifference. Perhaps, Alan has always been the smarter one between them and has succeeded in appreciating the physicality of their relationship for what it was.

It’s Daigo who’s allowed himself to be consumed, body and mind, in baseless fantasies. He’s the one who’s been subconsciously hoping for more, and for this, he’ll be the only one who has to fall.

The alleyways of Milokaloss Island are peaceful on this sunny Thursday morning. This never fails to surprise him, that in the six weeks he’s been here, not a drop of rain has hit them. Alan deserves to have grown up in such a paradise; he deserves to have spent his childhood among the spotless white houses with their cute and round yellow roofs, the wooden windowpanes, the red and purples flowers hanging off every sill, the abandoned bicycles, the stray Nyasupas… 

“Daigo-san.”

He freezes at the sound of Manon’s voice coming up to him from behind. She’s pushing a lime green bicycle up the slope with her and her face lights up when she recognizes him:

“It’s really you! Great, I really wanted to talk to you, Daigo-san.”

“Manon, I’m glad to see you too,” he offers a kind pat on her shoulders, “how’s the usual quad-driving going? And Hari-san?”

“Both are going very well. But I hope you don’t intend on bogging me down with small talk, Daigo-san. Depending on how you answer my question, you might regret ever coming to Milokaloss Island.”

Daigo pauses and frowns. He turns to Manon again.

“Was that a threat?”

“I said it depends, didn’t I?” she cocks an eyebrow, “now, answer the truth, please. What did you do to break Alan’s heart?”

“I didn’t,” he retorts frankly.

“But you hurt him, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps…yes.”

“Did you lie to him, Daigo-san?”

“Yes, in some respects.”

He almost expects the next question to be ‘can I punch you?’, but Manon subsumes into thoughtful silence before exhaling loudly.

“Daigo-san, everyone knows that you’ve come to this island to change things around,” she states, not impressed in the least, “but we – at least Alan and I – also expected you to be responsible and nice. I don’t think Alan would have ever accepted to meet you if he thought you were out to exploit or harm the resources we have...”

“I think I see where this is going,” he nods, diverting his gaze, “I didn’t mislead him in this respect, Manon. I’ve made my mistakes, but as soon as I identified them, did my best to have them rectified. What really sank me and made me lose him is my ego. Nothing more.”

He stops again, letting the cries of bug Pokémon and distant Camome gloss over him.

“I understand if he never wants to see me again after what I’ve said to him. But with regard to the island, I’ve done what I needed to do to protect it as promised, and have almost lost a business deal over it, so I don’t think I can still be blamed for that.”

“So…you and the Ayakōjis aren't going to disfigure our island, or harm our wild Pokémon.”

“No.”

She squints. “What did you tell Alan, exactly?”

“Don’t worry about it…A fair young lady shouldn’t be getting wrinkles over something like this.”

“Oh yikes!” she grimaces at the remark and sticks her tongue out, which does amuse him a bit, “can I hit you for this, Daigo-san?”

“That’s not when I expected you to ask this question,” he sighs despondently, leaning against the nearest wall, “I’ve lost my touch. A part of me does want to ask him to meet me one last time so we can properly say goodbye. But honestly, Manon, I feel like everything I’ve done in the past few weeks has been infested by bad consequences. Staying away seems the most reasonable choice.”

She grips the handle of her bicycle and chews on her lower lip, wavering a little too.

“Well, he’s leaving in a couple of weeks, too, you know. He accepted Professor Platane’s offer, so he is moving to Miare.”

That does make him hesitate. He looks up at her and perceives the sadness lurking in her own eyes, the nagging feeling of loss tugging on her lips. Bonded over their shared loss, hers so much more deeply rooted than his, he extends a hand for her to shake, and she gives him a high-five instead.

“You should meet him to say goodbye,” she declares, climbing onto her bike, “it might be hard to talk about it, but I think you’ll both feel better afterwards.”

She rides off without leaving him enough time to answer, waving over her shoulder as she goes up the slope, where golden threads gifted by the sunlight gleam in her hair:

“Good luck, Daigo-san! We’ll be seeing you around!”

Daigo watches her silhouette disappear in the distance before taking another deep breath, ready to sink again.

_Here we go._

*

*

*

Alan is debating which administrative authority he has to contact to denounce Fleurdelys before it’s too late, when he receives a text from Daigo on his phone, asking if he can meet him before he leaves on his evening flight. It’s already four in the afternoon and Alan is inclined to refuse because it will be awkward and they will have nothing to say. But he wants to return the Lizardonite X to him too. He’s thought about it over and over and keeping the gift just doesn’t seem right. So, he accepts and tells Daigo to wait for him in front of the townhall clock at five.  

The townhall clock is located on a white tower at the top of a hill, from which residential homes cascade towards the silky beaches at the bottom of the slope. There’s a terrace near the tower, with a ledge facing the sea, and from there a narrow path of paved stones slithers down from left to right towards Alan and Manon’s street. It's a flowery place filled with potted plants and trees because of all the maintenance that goes into making their administrative buildings look good. But tourists rarely want to visit it.

The terrace is deserted when he arrives to sit on the stone ledge, waiting for a couple of minutes until Daigo makes it, punctual as always, a boater hat resting precariously on his head.

“Hi,” Alan greets first.

The other man sounds quiet and restrained, but he’s also smiling, and sits next to him on the ledge with his back facing the void below. “Hello, Alan.”

Alan keeps his eyes fixed on the diamond-like sparkles on the water ripples in the distance, the ethereal sound of waves crashing over the cliffs. Daigo is the one who speaks first, and he sounds both sincere and worn:

“I just want to say that I’m sorry,” he then pauses, before whispering, “both for what I said and what I didn’t say.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he shakes his head, “what you said was the truth.”

It's difficult for him to continue because he's always hated talking about the things that matter, but he forces himself anyways just because this is the last time he'll ever see Daigo. 

“They _were_ business secrets. I was just frustrated and angry,” at what Fleurdelys had said; what Fleurdelys had done, “and disappointed by myself. You don’t actually have to apologize.”

He then adds, “I’m sorry for acting the way I did, too.”

“Well, then, I guess we both simply have a lot to learn,” Daigo smiles.

He shifts so as to be able to gaze at the view as well, expression pensive and withdrawn.

“In case you want to know about Fleurdelys, he’s lost the deal again,” the elder man then nods, making Alan look at him in surprise, “with Mikuri’s help, I’ve managed to get Ayakōji on board again. The resort’s expansion will happen on an artificial island annexed to this one. This way, the only structures we’ll need to put underwater are columns to hold the island up…which is a lot more conventional.”

Alan stares at him.

“This is a business secret,” the elder man smiles tentatively, “please don’t kiss and tell.”

“So, Fleurdelys won’t be able to get the rights to anything on this island?”

“No.”

He bites on his lips while Daigo heaves a sigh: “I’m still disappointed at myself for not seeing it coming. But what is done is done. I’ll be back in two weeks to continue working with Ayakōji on the blueprints of the new project.” He looks melancholic in spite of the smirk on his face: “I understand that you will be in Miare, then. Congratulations, Alan. Professor Platane is a great person to work with.”

“Thanks,” he tries to focus on a palm tree nearby, “it’s…going to be a weird feeling leaving this place after all this time, but…”

“But I think you’ll be amazing at what you do.”

The elder man smiles genuinely this time and it occurs to Alan that he’s really going to miss him. It’s more than the touches and caresses that he’s going to miss. He’s going to miss the ease with which Daigo had him going from amused to exasperated – the surprises and the non-judgmental comfort they gave each other. But to Daigo, as he said during the gala, their relationship was physical – had he taken that remark back too?

This was more than physical to me, he almost confesses out loud, but saves himself just in time. Reaching into his back pocket, he hands the Lizardonite X back to him.

“I think you should take it back after all,” he says simply.

Daigo looks crestfallen but accepts without protest.

“Alright.”

That’s it. They’ve played all their cards, now. There’s nothing else to say but their final farewells, and Alan wonders if a goodbye kiss would be appropriate for what they had. He feels like Daigo should have the final shot, since he’s the one who started it all. But the elder man stands up and clears his throat, rearranging his collar.

“I’ll be off. Have a very nice trip to Miare, Alan.”

“And you too.”

Daigo takes a few steps back, still gazing at him like he’s admiring a piece of art. For a second or two, he’s the perfect picture of the businessman on vacation, dashing, relaxed, and self-confident. He bows his head and offers one last, almost dramatic salute:

“All the best.”

Alan doesn’t stay around to see him go. He leaves the terrace at the same time, so that he doesn’t have to be the one left behind.

*

*

*

*

Packing to move to Miare is the worst.

Manon helps him with each of his boxes, and the things that they dig up from the dusty corners of his flat make them go from hysterical laughter to depression in a matter of minutes. In the course of the week, they travel up and down from his aunt and uncle’s house to his current apartment, moving suitcases back and forth until everything is packed away and ready to be shipped. While foraging in his drawers for leftovers, the night before his flight, she finds two tickets from an old concert they both went to a year ago, and literally starts bawling. Alan can do nothing but to hug her from behind, trying to ignore the way his own heart is shattering with each of her sob.

They’ve sat down to talk about the past, about how nothing much will change, about how they’ll still visit each other after he moves. Besides, Manon remarks after a while, I’ve also dreamt of studying in a huge city like Miare for university, so who knows? Maybe we’ll both live in the same city in two years’ time! It’s such lovely idea, Alan doesn’t say so out loud – but he prays that it will come true in one way or another.

She never begs him not to leave, though. And Manon is so brave like that. Alan almost breaks down more than once, questioning whether his choice was a good idea, whether he will be up to the part – to which she’d scoffed and asked him to get a grip even though he didn’t voice half of his worries out loud. With a bright smile that looks like sunflowers, Manon sends him and Rizado off at the airport with his uncle, aunt, and Harimaron.

And as simply as that, Alan leaves Milokaloss Island for good.  

 

 

Eleven months later, the sun is shining in Miare City. The Prism Tower is undertaking reparations, but it doesn’t stop the rest of the city from boasting its usual glamor, gloating with charm like a model flaunting their dress on the catwalk. Alan has gotten used to the Gogoat rides across the city and the prim students walking elegantly down the streets in their school uniforms, while he makes his almost daily trips to the Miare Galette store (Professor Platane has an addiction). He’s also taken a liking to the feeling of being lost at the crossroads, the feeling of being small in a world that is infinitely big, and yet unbelievably easy to navigate.

But mostly, he’s fallen in love with Miare Laboratories and the people working there. He didn’t embrace them... they did. Every single one of Professor Platane’s assistants and the Professor himself have received him and taken him in with familial warmth. Sophie and Cosette have taught him the ropes first, careful and attentive to his growth. The Professor, much more whimsical in his approach, prefers to let him explore their world on his own, giving him a hand with gentleness when he asks for it or looks too lost. Dexio likes to boast his knowledge, but blushes like a prude each time he receives a compliment on it. Sina’s given him the hardest time, taking mischievous pleasure in poking fun at him and making puns that are bad enough to make the whole room sigh. They’ve warmed up to each other eventually, and now she’s the first to to lend him a hand when he has too much on his plate – or on his petri dishes – still impish and brash, but also incredibly warm and kind.

Sometime around the beginning of June, they’ve received news of a project coming their way – something that is big enough to send the Professor on a trip that lasts almost a month, only to return with excitement all over his face and a new coffee machine. “It’s a project that may revolutionize the way we see Mega Evolution,” he explains in the kitchen while Dexio and Sina install the new device on the counter, the former grouching while the latter orders him around. “We are receiving guests tomorrow who will be talking to us about it in more details. We’ll be helping them to make a pitch for it, so let’s all be on our best behavior.”

They celebrate Dexio’s birthday the same evening, which means that the next day, each and every single one of them can’t bat an eyelid without wanting to cry.

“Seriously,” Alan gripes while picking up confetti from within the Pokéball-transfer machine, bogged down by the biggest headache he’s had in years, “what an idea to have a party one day before a business meeting. Sina, that was a horrible, horrible idea.”

“More like, what an idea to have a business meeting the day after a party?” she snaps back while clinging to her mop like it’s her last thread to life, “it’s not like we could have moved Dexio’s birthday by a day... It’s his _birthday_.”

“We could have _celebrated_ it another day,” Dexio admits, wiping the table with swollen eyes and a vaguely nauseous expression. He covers his mouth: “Oh no... I want to puke.”

“Please don’t,” Sina sighs.

“This place is never going to be clean in time,” Alan throws the handful of confetti into the bin, before heading out of the room.

“Where are you going?” his colleague looks back.

“Cleaning the entrance hall,” he responds, “there are still banners hanging everywhere.”

The walk down the staircase to the entrance is a precarious one. At every step, he feels like his head is about to explode, and has to focus so hard on where he’s walking that he can barely register the sound of the car stopping outside. Nor does he notice Professor Platane coming out from the east wing in a new, clean lab coat, hair combed, and looking more or less decent in spite of the wobbliness in his walk.

“Alan,” he calls while Alan is picking up banners that have fallen on the carpet, “the guests said they’re coming in a minute. Do you think we could get some jasmine tea ready in the lounge for them?”

“Sure,” he gathers the paper decorations into his hands, then stops on his way to the kitchen again, “what are their names, by the way? How do we address them?”

“There’re two of them. They come from Devon Corporation,” Professor Platane replies, straightening his collar, “You can call them Matsuura Kazaki-san and Tsuwabuki Daigo-san.”

Alan almost drops the decorations as his jaw falls open:

“What?”

A ring on the doorbell, and Professor Platane hurries to open the door: “Coming!”

Daigo is the first to step in, a figure in black like a crow, steel cuffs around his sleeves, crimson red tie looking horribly attractive on him, standing out on his white shirt. His smile is exactly as Alan remembers it, graceful and the definition of poise. A warm glimmer in his feline eyes, he stops and greets Professor Platane with a cordial handshake, before meeting Alan’s gaze and bowing his head:

“Alan,” he smirks, infinitely warm.

And Alan’s mind stops. The ride starts over. The sun is shining bright on Miare City, and here they go again.       

 

 

x


End file.
